The Mention that I Miss
by Runawaymetaphor
Summary: "It's not power that I feel deprived of, it's the mention that I miss." - Geoffrey, The Lion in Winter
1. Surprising things

The Mention that I Miss

"_It's not the power I feel deprived of, it's the mention that I miss." -_Geoffrey_, The Lion in Winter_

Chapter 1: Surprising things

Captain Janeway sat in the mess hall drinking the newest 'coffee substitute' Neelix had concocted. It was awful, but not nearly as awful as the previous two had been. She drank it with a grimace, watching her crew, subtly, from the corner table that she occupied.

Harry and B'Elanna sat two tables from her, and had bid her hello when she came in. They may have offered her a seat if she'd hadn't a stack of PADDs and an expression that clearly conveyed that she was there for coffee and nothing else. That was half an hour ago, and Torres and Kim were now finished with their meal, chatting in low voices about Torres' latest pet engineering project. Tom Paris entered, procuring a tray before he stopped briefly to say hello to the two. He didn't sit with them, which was unusual. Instead, he sat two tables down, in the opposite direction from Janeway, settling into a seat across from Tuvok. Janeway observed it all silently, her face pensive, before forcing her eyes back to the report in front of her.

It had been two months since the Delta Flyer had encountered the temporal anomaly and Tom had experienced an alternate timeline. Physically, he was fine, Janeway knew. She read the Doctor's reports with great interest, and had seen Tom in Sickbay twice; once right after they had returned to _Voyager_, and then again when he was discharged to his quarters.

As the Doctor explained, Paris was physically unharmed. Physically unchanged. The only medical evidence of his experience was the additional two and half years of memories his brain had stored.

When she now looked down at her PADD in the mess hall, she didn't see Tuvok's security update. Instead, the bleak images of Tom's report on his experience flashed before her. _Voyager_ marred in two-years of battle, dragged into the civil war of a race they'd barely encountered in her own timeline. A race that she may have opened up trade relations with if the anomaly hadn't stopped them in their tracks. Her vessel damaged over and over, the exhausting cycle of repairs and triage becoming the pace of everyday life. The loss of two dozen crewmembers, including Tuvok and Harry, in the first wave of attacks. The loss of Chakotay less than a year later. And, finally, her own death. Tom had assumed command of _Voyager_ two months before he was dragged back to their timeline. Before Janeway and Seven had managed to back the Flyer off from the anomaly that had engulfed the front of the ship, including the pilot's seat, for only a few minutes.

When she'd taken Tom on the scouting mission on the Flyer, he'd only been released from the brig three weeks earlier, part of his punishment for his stunt with the Moneans. He seemed to be taking his demotion well, but they had both been avoiding each other socially. Their characteristic banter no longer filled the bridge when they shared shifts. He was polite and so was she, but when he looked at her, their was a distance in his eyes.

Now, she thought of the look on the pilot's face when he'd woken up on the floor of the Flyer. His vital signs were thready at first, but quickly leveled off. He'd opened his eyes, and the distance in them was gone, replaced by a heartbreaking kind of surprise, a profound disbelief- like he was seeing a ghost. Janeway realized, later, that he had been. He'd grabbed her hand then and breathed her name. Her first name.

Inwardly, she'd panicked, knowing something wasn't right. She'd indicated for Seven to get them the hell back to _Voyager_. They'd beamed Tom directly to Sickbay as soon as they were in range.

On shift, Paris was different. But it was in ways that were difficult to pinpoint. He seemed kinder, more sincere. He was very rarely flippant. At the same time, he was more reserved, his words sparer. The silence that pervaded the bridge after his release from the brig continued, though it was different in character. It had shifted from a palpable tension to a comfortable quiet. Still, whenever Tuvok made a comment on human emotions or Chakotay informed them of Neelix's latest attempt to boost morale, Janeway's eyes looked to her helmsman. But he rarely commented.

Now, watching him in the mess hall over her PADD, Paris' face didn't seem pained or uncomfortable. He talked with Tuvok as both men worked on their meals. His eyes crinkled as he chuckled at something that Tuvok said, but it was a friendly laugh rather than one of mockery. He seemed content, at home.

Janeway willed away her thoughts, focusing again on the work in front of her.

. . . . .

Dressed in civilian clothes, Janeway and Chakotay navigated the corridors to the turbolift. He'd met her at her quarters- she was running late- and they were finally on their way to dinner. As they walked, she sighed. They both knew that she would rather be doing work, that the only reason she hadn't cancelled on him was because of the guilt he would make her feel. Despite himself, Chakotay suppressed a smirk.

They entered the lift, and as the doors were closing, the Commander suddenly held them. When the doors re-opened, Paris slid on, nodding at Chakotay in appreciation, and then greeting the Captain.

"Babysitting Naomi?" Chakotay asked, smiling at Tom. Paris didn't live on Deck Three. None of the senior staff did except for the Captain. But Samantha Wildman did, and Tom was Naomi's favorite babysitter, after Neelix.

Tom nodded, a rueful expression on his face.

"I was covering for Neelix. But now I need to get back to the report I was working on. Playing with Naomi is not a task that can be combined with other things."

Janeway's lips pursed. It was Tom's day off tomorrow, and department reports weren't due for another two days. Why was he going off to do work instead of rushing to spend time with B'Elanna, or going to the holodeck with Harry? Chakotay chuckled beside her, opening his mouth to reply as the lift stopped on another deck. When B'Elanna got on, Chakotay fell silent, eyeing Tom and then the engineer.

Janeway watched her XO watching them.

B'Elanna nodded to Janeway and Chakotay before looking at Tom.

"How was Naomi?"

"Full of energy," Tom replied to the Klingon, trying to sound cheerful.

B'Elanna snorted, smiling a little.

"That kid will really take it out of you." B'Elanna didn't look at Tom as she commented.

Tom nodded and when the lift stopped, he got off with a wave. B'Elanna was at the front of the lift, looking forward. There was a moment of silence.

"You have to stop that, Chakotay." B'Elanna's voice betrayed frustration as well as affection. She was ignoring the fact that the Captain was also in the turbolift. But, then, B'Elanna long ago assumed that anything the Commander knew, the Captain knew as well.

"What?" Chakotay's voice was surprised.

B'Elanna exhaled forcefully.

"The looks of sympathy. The staring." The engineer paused. "It's fine. We're. . . It's fine." B'Elanna didn't speak with her characteristic confidence, and Janeway felt both her interest and her concern grow.

"I'm sorry," Chakotay breathed, shaking his head. "I don't mean to."

"I know." B'Elanna still didn't turn around. "But it doesn't help."

Chakotay patted the younger woman on the back as the lift doors opened on the deck that contained the holodecks.

"I'm sorry," he said again softly, lingering in the lift after Janeway exited in front of him.

B'Elanna waved him on.

"What was that all about?" Janeway asked, when they were far enough way from the lift. Chakotay looked at her with a mix of surprise and hesitancy. He realized she didn't know that Tom and B'Elanna had broken up.

"They aren't together anymore."

She stopped walking, her face betraying her dismay.

"Since when?"

"Two weeks after. . . " Chakotay's voice trailed off, and Janeway's mind whirred.

"But they seem fine with one another."

She realized as she said it that it wasn't quite accurate. There had been a shift about two months ago, a decrease in familiarity between the two. Janeway wasn't sure if they were making an effort to separate their personal and professional lives more, or if they were struggling after Tom's experience. She hadn't wanted to think about it too much, but she still hadn't considered the possibility that they'd called it quits. There were no uncomfortable moments in staff meetings, no public arguments. She'd witnessed a dozen passing exchanges between them in the last few weeks, and they were all friendly.

Chakotay shrugged.

"I don't think it ended in fireworks and threats. They still want to be friends."

"What happened?" The concern in her voice was evident, but Chakotay didn't respond, shifting uncomfortably beside her.

She looked at him, crossing her arms.

"It's not my story to tell."

He looked apologetic, and she realized he was right.

As they walked toward the holodeck, Chakotay knew he'd lost his friend for the evening. Janeway would be there in body, but her mind would be off re-examining the last two months worth off data she had on Tom and B'Elanna. He sighed.

. . . . . .

At Naomi's birthday party, Tom sat next to the girl as she opened presents, held her hand as she led him around the room. He then chatted cheerfully with Harry, Chakotay, and Samantha. Even with Seven and the Doctor. But his conversations with everyone were short, and as soon as everyone was occupied, he slipped out of the holodeck.

Janeway watched him. It was the third time she'd witnessed something like this in the last three months. Moving from her chair, she got up to follow him.

His stride down the corridor was swift but not panicked. Her shorter legs struggled to catch him, reaching him just before he got on the turbolift.

"Leaving so soon, Mr. Paris?"

She realized she didn't us his rank now if she could help it. It was an uncomfortable reality; one she wasn't sure she could rectify. Technically, he was still the same officer who'd disobeyed her four months earlier. But in every meaningful way, he wasn't. He was a man who'd fought for almost three years to keep his ship going in the worst of times. Who'd become an XO, and then taken over command entirely. Calling him 'Ensign' seemed the worst kind of blow, and the title burned in her throat the few times she used it.

Tom never registered any reaction to the use of his rank, and she wasn't sure if this made it better or worse.

He turned around, greeting her with a small smile. For a moment, he looked as though he'd been caught. But then, just as quickly, the look was gone, replaced by an unreadable expression. It wasn't the demeanor of glibness he wore early on their journey, but a patient expression that looked remarkably like a command mask.

"Afraid so, Captain. I guess a party without a pool table or an open bar is kind of a bust to me." He tried to plaster a smirk onto his face, but it seemed out of place. Like Chakotay doing an imitation of Tom.

She crossed her arms, a signal that she wasn't buying it. Tom was a smart man. They could stand here playing games, or she could cut to the chase, saving them both some time.

"Play a game of nine ball with me?"

She leaned against the wall of the corridor, a casual stance. She wasn't ordering him, wasn't acting in official capacity. she could tell by the way he looked at her that he didn't want to agree, but she also knew that he wouldn't decline her.

"Of course, Captain." His voice was bright with a cheer she was sure he didn't feel.

In Sandrine's, she deleted some of the characters, but not all of them. She suspected this might be easier if there was, at least, the illusion that they weren't alone; if they were without the pressure of being the only two people in the room. He called for music, something she never remembered him doing in Sandrine's, as he walked to the bar. He ordered himself a beer and a black coffee for Janeway, handing her the mug as she selected her cue stick. She ordered a shot of whiskey to go in it and expected Tom to be surprised.

He wasn't, and poured the shot into her coffee for her before dropping the shot glass back on the bar with a soft clink.

They were well into their second game before either of them said anything. She was letting him get comfortable, gauging his reactions to her. His face told her he knew as much, but he didn't shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"I owe you an apology, Tom."

He was lining up his shot, and she was perched on one of the bar stools they'd dragged over to the pool table.

"For beating me at pool?" He made the shot and stood up, eyeing the table. "Hardly. You've been beating me for years now. It's our routine."

She ignored the attempt to stall the conversation, picking her next words carefully.

"After the temporal anomaly, you seemed fine. And I wanted to believe that, because it was easier for me." He leaned over the cue ball, not looking at her as she spoke. "But you're not fine. And I should have noticed it sooner." She closed her eyes briefly. "Maybe I did notice it, and pretended I didn't."

He missed the bank shot he was attempting, looking up at her ruefully. It looked like he was out of practice. He moved away from the table, his face was honest as he slumped onto the bar stool next to her.

"Sometimes I am fine." He sipped his beer. "And sometimes I'm not. And when I'm not, I kick myself. Because I'm on a ship that isn't being constantly attacked, a ship where my friends are still alive. And I think I should just feel happy. Grateful."

He sighed as he finished his admission, and Janeway turned her face to him. She hadn't expected him to open up so quickly and struggled to catch up to the pace of the conversation.

"But you don't feel happy?"

"Oh, I do. I look at Harry and Chakotay. At Tuvok." He paused. "At you. And I feel grateful down to my bones."

She smiled softly, remembering how Tom had hugged Harry when the young man had first come to see his friend in Sickbay. Janeway was there and saw the tears streaming down her helmsman's face. She was there, too, when Chakotay came in just after Harry. Tom had hugged him as well. The Commander had frozen in place, looking at Janeway with surprise over Tom's shoulder. Chakotay hadn't been informed of the nature of Tom's memories. Also, he and Tom had never been the best of friends.

"And when you don't feel grateful? When you don't feel relief?" She was still looking at him, watching his thought process pass over his face.

He wasn't deciding what to tell her. He was deciding how to explain.

"It's easier with Chakotay and Harry." She wasn't sure where he was going, but listened patiently. "I'm just happy they're not dead. But it's not as though, other than remembering them dying, I have memories that cloud our relationship."

She still didn't quite understand, but she was beginning to follow his meaning.

"B'Elanna?" she asked, and he nodded a confirmation.

"In that timeline, B'Elanna broke up with me a year after we were dragged into the war. I had been _Voyager_'s First Officer for two months, we were both exhausted." He drank his beer again and she sipped her Irish coffee, her eyes watching him over her cup. "We were _all _exhausted. I don't think she had anything left to give." He shook his head at the memory. "She ended it, but we were still close friends. We'd all lost so much; all we had left was each other. Those of us who were still alive. . . we clung to one another."

Paris' eyes became filled with pain. Janeway touched his arm lightly.

"When you woke up back here, in this timeline, you'd already moved past your relationship?" Her voice was low. She didn't want to push him and waited for the first sign that she should back off.

His face was open, his eyes pained.

"I just. . . Don't have those feelings anymore. I thought maybe they'd come back. But after two weeks. . ." He cleared his throat. "It just wasn't fair to her."

Ending things with B'Elanna had been crushing for him. He wasn't in love with her the way she was with him, but he did love her, did care about her. He remembered holding her at the funerals. And then sharing long looks of pain and regret when there was no longer time to mark the passing of the piling dead. He could still see her face when she'd aided him with reports and duty rosters, conduit residue smeared across her forehead as she tried to help him with the administration of their damaged ship. The pain of their shared losses constantly etched across her features, its shadow far darker than the dirt and grime.

Tom wasn't in love with B'Elanna anymore, but he would lay down his life for her. He would have died a thousand deaths, if only to make that pain leave her face.

"You ended it?" Janeway's voice drew him back to the present, chasing away the ghosts of things that hadn't actually happened.

Tom looked at her, willing her to understand. She looked back at him with sympathy and compassion. He exhaled slowly, beginning to nod.

"You and B'Elanna seem to be doing okay, all things considered. I know it's going to be awkward for a while, but you'll bounce back."

He realized she was interpreting his troubles to be about B'Elanna only. It was an out, he knew. But it was suddenly one he didn't want to take. It felt good to talk about all of it, to finally air this pain with someone on the ship.

"This isn't just about B'Elanna."

She looked at him, telling him to go on.

"I have memories, experiences that didn't happen, about a lot of people. My relationships with friends, colleagues, are different than I remember them. It's like I woke up and my whole life changed." He looked toward the pool table instead of at her, his mouth inching up at one corner. "I remember the Doctor finally picking a name. Seven of Nine learning to be sarcastic." Janeway's eyebrows shot up at this, and Paris added darkly, "that was a real treat, let me tell you."

She chuckled, and his face became serious again.

"I remember a dozen late night conversations with Neelix in the mess hall, talking about the crew. Talking about the resilience of the human spirit." He willed himself to be brave. "I remember the hundreds of hours you and I spent working together; the friendship we formed."

Despite herself, Janeway's mouth fell open. She hadn't expected this. Perhaps she'd assumed that she was in the same category as Harry and Chakotay- the 'just glad you're alive' classification. But that was a thoughtless error. Unlike the others who died in that timeline, Tom had over two years of memories of her that hadn't actually happened. She schooled her features, willing her discomfort not to show.

"You were my XO for sixteen months, right?"

He nodded.

"We must have spent a great deal of time together."

It was a lame observation on her part, she knew, and one that he'd already noted moments earlier.

"We became friends. You trusted me," he offered, simply.

"We were already friends. And I've always trusted you."

Her grey eyes searched his blue ones, and his expression became difficult to read as he gazed at the pool table in front of them. He swallowed the retort that as much she'd liked him, as much as he respected her, they weren't friends before. They weren't friends now.

"Not in the same way," he pronounced, shaking his head. "We shared meals. We shared our thoughts, our feelings. I called you by your first name."

A look of understanding began to spread across her face.

"I became your best friend."

"And I became yours." He smiled, but it was a sad smile. "It wasn't as though either of us had many friends left."

They sat in silence for some time, both staring forward. Eventually, she looked at him and her face was open.

"You miss the Kathryn Janeway from that timeline- the one you became close with."

It wasn't a question so much as a hypothesis. His eyes narrowed as he decided how to answer.

"A lot happened that changed us. Not all of it was for the better."

She realized that for the first time since he'd opened up that he was being deliberately vague. She didn't press.

"But I miss spending time with my friend. The person I had coffee with every morning. The person I taught to play darts when she could no longer beat me at pool."

"Don't tell me you finally started winning at pool and we had to change games."

She was trying to lighten his mood. Perhaps she was also trying to ebb her own uneasiness.

"Nope." He looked darkly amused. "We didn't have enough energy to power the holodecks anymore. I replicated a dartboard and we played whenever we were sick of going through damage reports." He turned his head, meeting her eyes for the first time since their conversation had addressed her. "It took six months, but eventually I got my tail kicked as badly at darts as I had at pool."

Janeway smiled. She had never really played darts. But she could imagine Tom teaching her. She could imagine learning to beat the pants off him, his face incredulous when she finally won.

They were silent for some time after he finished speaking, each occupied with their own thoughts and the drinks in their hands.

"I don't have any idea what to do now." It was the kind of admission Kathryn Janeway very rarely made.

It was the kind of admission Tom remembered hearing from her all too often.

"I know. I don't either." He forced himself to meet her gaze. "Here, now, you aren't my best friend. We don't have that kind of relationship, and I know that. I accept it. But I have memories of you telling me stories, of me making you laugh, that are as clear as day. I know things about you that you yourself haven't told me." He closed his eyes, no longer able to take the weight of her stare. "In a way, I feel like I know things about you that I don't have a right to."

There was a heaviness, a kind of guilt in his voice. Despite her own feelings, Janeway found it crushing.

"You have no reason to feel guilty," she rushed to say, but he still wasn't looking at her. "You didn't break into my personal logs or eavesdrop on a private conversation. You earned my confidences. It didn't happen in our timeline. But it did happen. You befriended someone, Tom, and she let you in."

She touched his arm again, and he finally met her eyes.

"You have no reason to feel guilty," she repeated.

He nodded his head, but his agreement was half-hearted. He slid off the bar stool.

"It's late, we should probably get going."

He held her drink as she slid off her own stool. She looked at the pool table wistfully.

"We never finished our game."

He shrugged.

"You were always going to win."

"And don't you ever forget it, Mr. Paris."

His mouth opened when she finished her statement, but before he said anything it closed again. She looked at him questioningly.

"You don't have to do that, you know."

She looked at him with confusion.

"You don't have to refrain from using my rank," he clarified.

His face was sincere, concern etched into his features. She wanted to cringe. Had she been that obvious? She was sure she hadn't. It occurred to her that Tom Paris could now read her as well as Chakotay or Tuvok. Perhaps better.

"Admittedly, I'm uncomfortable with it, Tom. But I'm not sure what to do about it either."

It was another admission she hadn't been prepared to make. Another admission that didn't surprise him.

"I'm still the same officer who disobeyed you not so long ago. I'm sill the same person you had to punish."

His voice was kind, reassuring. It made it that much worse for her.

"Are you?" she asked, searching his face.

His face stayed open, unflinching, even while she allowed herself to examine him.

"Because I don't think you are. And for you, it's hardly 'not so long ago.' "

He dropped his eyes from hers, rubbing his face with his hand. He was conceding.

"From to Lieutenant down to Ensign. And then from Ensign to Lieutenant and Lieutenant Commander. . . And now all the way back down to Ensign again."

He laughed as he finished, and she realized it was a genuine laugh. Tom had never really cared about rank, status. She smiled despite herself.

"Somewhere, my father is spinning in his chair at Starfleet Command."

When he delivered the punch line, she hesitated for a fraction of a second. But Tom's voice was free of bitterness, a serene smile on his face. Janeway laughed out loud as they walked toward the exit. She patted him on the arm.

"We should do this again soon," she said, as they left the holodeck.

Tom nodded in agreement, and they walked in companionable silence down the corridor.

. . . . .

After their time in the holodeck, Janeway and Paris didn't do anything together for another month. They saw each other socially, but were never alone. At the music recital in the mess mall, Tom slipped into the seat next to her and she favored him with a smile just as Harry began his solo. The banter on the bridge slowly returned, though Tom's jokes weren't nearly as off-color or as dark as they had been before.

Still, Janeway didn't seek Paris out, and he pretended not to notice.

Now, walking toward the holodeck, Janeway's head ached. She'd promised Chakotay hours ago that she would talk to him about the personnel reviews she'd been putting off all week. It was evening, and she was surprised when the computer informed her that the Commander was on the holodeck. Chakotay wasn't normally a fan of holographic adventures, and the rare time he spent there was usually with her. When she got to the holodeck's entrance, she considered waiting. Chakotay hadn't engaged the privacy lock, but he was running a program she didn't recognize. She thought about comming him, but decided against it, entering with a deep sigh.

It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light. She found herself enveloped by sunlight, surrounded by trees. It was warm, but not hot. There was a strong breeze, and she brushed the hair from her eyes as it moved around her face.

Twenty meters before her was a mountain. She shielded her eyes from the sun, looking at the dark figures she saw moving across it. Chakotay was about twenty-five meters up the face of the rock, and Paris was about five meters above him, looking down at the older man. Janeway looked around and recognized that they were in Yosemite. She took a deep breath of the fresh hair, and began moving forward, toward the mountain and the men.

She couldn't see their faces, but she could make out their movements. Tom perched serenely, his face angled down to the Commander. Chakotay slowly moved to catch up to Tom, his motions unsteady and reluctant. Janeway smiled.

Chakotay was many things, but she wouldn't list graceful among them. As she approached them, the wind carried their voices down to her. They'd yet to see her, and plowed forward in their conversation as Chakotay made his way up to where Tom was.

"That's ridiculous, Paris. You can't possibly think that."

Janeway heard the accusation in Chakotay's voice clearly, stopping in her tracks.

"I do think that. And so do a lot of people." Tom's voice was even, but it had a slightly smug tone to it.

"A lot of idiots, you mean."

Janeway cringed at Chakotay's words. She wasn't sure why, but these two had the ability to bring out the worst in each other. She really thought they were past this, especially after Tom's recent experience. Frustrated with both of them, she shook her head.

"Ad hominem attacks are hardly a valid way of making your point."

The logic of Tom's comment was juxtaposed by the increasing petulance in his voice. Chakotay reached for another hand hold, pulling himself up tentatively. He was only a body length below Tom now.

"Point taken." Chakotay stopped, resting for a bit where he was. "But still, I think there's no way in hell that B'Tol would have taken down Ikkina if they'd both qualified that year."

Tom was shaking his head before Chakotay even finished.

"Sure, the Klingon had weight on his side," the Commander continued. "But he was clumsy. Ikkina was graceful, moved around the ring like he was floating. No way B'Tol would have landed that many blows."

"You're championing the small but graceful over the big and clumsy? Are you sure that's the argument you want to make?"

The pilot's tone was seemingly innocent. Chakotay's laughter rang out loudly around them, soon echoed by Tom's.

Janeway, still ten meters from the base of the mountain face, smiled with relief. She'd misread the conversation entirely.

When Chakotay reached for the last hand hold to close the distance between himself and Paris, his right foot faltered. Tom anticipated Chakotay's movements before Chakotay had even thought to be afraid, and scrambled down beside the XO. Janeway couldn't see what happened next, exactly. First, Chakotay faltered, and then Tom was beside him, offering a hand. Chakotay took it, seemed to move to a more comfortable position.

And then. the next thing she knew, Tom was falling down the side of the mountain side, bumping hard against the rock face once before landing on the ground with a sickening thud.

Mentally, Janeway knew that holodeck safeties were on and Tom was fine. But physically, her body reacted. She found herself bolting to her where Tom lay, shouting his name. She crouched down beside him, examining his body as he lay still, his eyes closed. It was sickeningly familiar.

"Tom? Tom, are you okay?"

His eyes opened, and Tom looked at her with a mix of surprise and mirth.

"Just dandy, Captain. Except that your First Officer just killed me."

Tom sat up, looking at Chakotay, who was now joining Janeway at Paris' side. Tom's fall was a good excuse to tell the computer to get him the hell off that mountain.

"Sorry about that, Tom."Chakotay's face was sheepish. He was embarrassed that his error had resulted in this. He was even more embarrassed that the Captain had witnessed it.

Chakotay helped Tom to his feet, and the blonde man dusted himself off.

"It's okay," Tom's voice was cheerful and full of sincerity. "But you might want to reconsider your point about the big and clumsy being easily defeated by the agile."

Chakotay's brow furrowed in thought. Janeway watched the exchange with interest, but said nothing.

"Maybe. But then Ikkina and B'Tol wouldn't have been climbing a mountain when they boxed."

Tom looked at Chakotay for a moment, and then began to laugh. Chakotay joined him, and they both shook with amusement before Chakotay turned expectantly to the Captain.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but I was looking for the Commander." She looked up at the mountain with a wry grin, craning her neck. "I didn't realize you were occupied."

"By all means, Captain. He's all yours," Tom said with a sweep of his arm. "I think I've had my fill of bonding time for the day anyway."

Chakotay managed to plaster a hurt expression on his face at Tom's words.

"What? You're done spending time with me after a little thing like my almost killing you? What a fairweather friend you are, Paris."

Paris winked at him, and Janeway looked on. She wondered as to when these two had become so comfortable with one another.

"Well, I'll let you two get to duty rosters or personnel reviews. Or whatever scintillating project you have ahead of you," Paris quipped as he nodded to both of them before heading for the holodeck's archway.

Chakotay chuckled.

"You know you miss it, Paris; the hours of mind-numbing forms, reading reports until you're bleary-eyed. Realizing it didn't mean a damn thing, because no one would have noticed if you hadn't read them."

Chakotay's tone was light even though his words were dark. They were the kind of jokes the Captain and the Commander normally made in private. Jests about the burdens of command, the pains of administration. Janeway realized, belatedly, that Tom was now in their private club, too.

Tom smiled at the Commander, and Chakotay called after him.

"We could trade next week. I could pilot, and you could do whatever it is that I do, exactly."

Tom paused. This joke was a private one. Chakotay was the only person Tom had told that he did rather miss his work as an XO. That he missed the challenges of worrying about the ship and her crew.

"We don't have enough shuttles left for you to be a pilot for a week," Tom retorted, waving as he left.

When the pilot was gone, Chakotay smiled at the door. Janeway looked at him quizzically.

"When did you start spending time with Tom?"

They stood where they were, not leaving the sunshine and fresh air.

"A few months ago. Not long after he and B'Elanna broke up, I guess."

She eyed him with interest, waiting for him to go on.

"Tom isn't the same person as before. We've laid to rest a lot of unpleasant feelings."

Chakotay shifted, for a moment visibly uncomfortable. This was the way he always behaved when he wanted to tell her something but didn't want to betray too much of another person's confidence.

"It's hard for him to be back to being the Chief Conn Officer when he's done so much more." He paused. "When he knows now that he's capable of so much more."

Janeway looked away from him, biting her lip slightly. She hadn't thought about any of this. She assumed Tom was relieved to be rid of the burdens of commanding an ailing ship. Happy that he was back at the helm, able to fly again. She saw the professional changes in him, but he hadn't seemed to chafe in his old position. She wondered what else she'd missed, feeling a stab of familiar guilt.

"I have a few ideas, where Tom's concerned."

She nodded, welcoming his suggestions.

"But Kathryn, you should really talk to him about this."

She looked at him, a tinge of embarrassment coloring her features. Chakotay knew she was avoiding Tom, and she knew that he knew it. But he'd never brought it up, and she assumed he was going to let her deal with the pilot in her own time. Perhaps he'd already begun dealing with it for her.

"Has he mentioned me?" Her face was pensive, and Chakotay's features softened.

"Not directly, no. But he's perceptive, especially when it comes to you."

Janeway frowned. She'd noticed.

"He knows that you're avoiding him. He's just. . . letting you."

The stab of guilt in her stomach came back, this time stronger.

"Well," she said, resolved, "that stops this week."

Chakotay nodded approvingly as they made their to the archway, walking in companionable silence.

"Ikkina, Chakotay?" she asked, when they were halfway to the turbolift.

He lifted his eyebrows confusion. Janeway shook her head, disapprovingly.

"B'Tol would have flattened Ikkina in under ten minutes. Ikkina was a smart fighter, but he had no heart. No inner fire."

Beside her, Chakotay chuckled.

Kathryn Janeway never ceased to surprise him.


	2. An old, familiar song

Chapter 2: An old, familiar song

Janeway sat with Chakotay in her ready room, finishing the last of the personnel reviews. It had taken three days, but they'd finally gotten it done.

Chakotay had suggested, pending Tom's consent, that they change up the responsibilities on the helmsman's plate. He would still be Chief Conn Officer, as well as assisting the Doctor in Sickbay, but some of the more tedious aspects of running his department would be shared with Ensign Baytart. This would free Tom up to take on additional responsibilities relating to personnel and training.

At the start of their conversation, Chakotay had commented, "the crew have started going to Tom anyway."

She'd seemed surprised, but Chakotay had explained.

"He's proven a good source of advice, but he's a back channel. A few steps short of doing something official, like approaching me, even off the record." He'd added, "I rather suspect they'd been going to him before. . . But do so more now."

Chakotay never named Paris' experience when they spoke like this. Janeway wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable generally about saying it out loud, or only with her.

She had nodded in understanding to his words, had agreed with his suggestions. But now, her face was pensive.

"Are you worried that it's inappropriate to skip over Tuvok?"

Tuvok was the third in command. Technically, if Chakotay was going to be getting help with his duties from anyone, it should be him.

Janeway waved off this concern. She knew Tuvok wouldn't feel skipped over. More importantly, there was a difference between the letter and the spirit of protocol. Tuvok had enough on his plate. And even if he didn't, Janeway knew, despite her old friend's deep understanding of the human psyche, that he was the wrong officer to have as the face of personnel issues.

"No," she'd said, leaning back in her chair. "I'm just a bit concerned about approaching this with Tom."

"Well, I'm supposed to be having dinner with B'Elanna shortly. She and Tom have a weekly appointment on the holodeck right about now." Chakotay scratched the side of his face." I could show up early to meet her, mention to Tom that we'd like to talk him about his responsibilities."

"B'Elanna and Tom are on the holodeck now?"

Her face piqued with interest, and Chakotay misread it. He assumed she wanted to know if they were getting back together.

"Yes, they normally spar together once a week. I think it's helped keep their friendship on an even keel after things ended between them."

Janeway nodded, already rising.

"I'll go with you. Drop in to say hello."

Chakotay's eyebrows went up but he didn't respond. Instead, he followed her onto the bridge, nodding to the staff there as they entered the turbolift. When the doors slid shut, he tried not to smile.

Chakotay knew that Kathryn Janeway favored honesty and open negotiation. But when times got tough, when the odds were against her, she liked nothing more than a good, old-fashioned ambush.

The Commander thought silently that she would have made quite the asset to the Maquis.

"What is it?" Janeway asked, noting the smirk that had crept onto her First Officer's face.

"Oh, nothing," he said, his dimples becoming deeper.

She eyed him warily, but knew better than to push whenever he did this. She would get nothing out of him in the end.

. . . . .

Tom panted as he and B'Elanna moved around the ring.

"What's wrong, flyboy, having trouble keeping up?"

Tom dodged a predictable combination. He felt lucky that B'Elanna sometimes favored the same series of punches. It was the only edge he had on her other than height.

"Nah," he taunted, "just hoping you would change up your technique. It's starting to get staler than Harry's gym shorts."

She blocked a right hook, landing a quick but savage jab before he could get his guard back up. Tom's eyes narrowed as he staggered back.

"Nice music today, by the way."

B'Elanna's mouth twisted in a mocking smile.

"I'm so glad you like it, Paris. I heard this song and immediately thought of you."

Tom liked having background music while they sparred, but B'Elanna found it a distraction. As a compromise, he let her pick whatever she wanted. She'd sifted through his archive of ancient music, picking out things she liked. Eventually, however, she'd realized that her musical choices could become part of her strategy.

She began playing things that had explicit lyrics, or else selections that had played in more intimate moments between the two of them. It had thrown him off, but only for the first two weeks that she did it. After that, her tactics became more subtle. She used the music to needle him slightly, hoping it would give her an advantage. Not that she needed.

They both enjoyed her game. It was a sign that they still trusted each other. That, no matter what, they each would give as good as they got.

When Chakotay and Janeway entered the holodeck, they were both surprised by the lazy melody that echoed through the open space. It was rather slow for a sporting event. Through the ancient speakers Paris had designed, a woman's voice crooned about the vanity of her former lover, how he must assume that the song she was singing was about him.

After a few moments, the Captain and Commander picked up on the lyrics. Janeway looked at Chakotay with an arched eyebrow and the dark-haired officer stifled a laugh.

"B'Elanna gets to pick the music," Chakotay explained in a conspiratorial whisper.

Janeway shook her head in disbelief. Somehow though, it was strangely reassuring. Which was more than either of them could say about what was enfolding in the ring in front of them.

Before their eyes, Tom was getting the snot beat out of him.

When Paris and Torres had first started this ritual, this was the point. Tom knew B'Elanna was angry at him, no matter how friendly they were. How could she not be, after all? The whole thing had been his ploy for her to get the anger out in a constructive way rather than torpedoing their friendship.

It had worked. Initially, she'd said little during their sessions, content to shellac him in silence. But then she'd begun to taunt him. And then, in between the taunting, she'd started to open up to him about her day, the problems in her department. The uneasy silence dissolved, and they again spoke openly with each other, in and out of the ring.

But the taunts remained. As did the shellacking. Tom took it all in stride.

When B'Elanna landed another vicious blow, the computer chimed the end of the match. Janeway allowed herself to let out a low whistle.

"That's gotta hurt," Chakotay murmured, grimacing and closing one eye.

When Paris and Torres climbed out of the ring, they noticed the two ranking officers, greeting them both with surprise. If either officer was embarrassed about the savage beating one had inflicted and the other had endured, they didn't show it.

"Captain," B'Elanna greeted, before drinking from her water canteen. "You're a little early for dinner, Chakotay."

"Sorry, B'Elanna. I wanted to pop in to say hello to Tom."

The XO eyed the helmsman with interest. The blonde officer was panting, but didn't seem the worse for ware.

"Don't worry, old man," B'Elanna said with a smirk, "he'll be just fine."

"She never touches the face, thankfully," Tom added, a smile creeping onto the visage in question.

"Never," B'Elanna agreed. "I believe there's an old Earth saying about not damaging the goods?"

At this, Paris' smile widened and Chakotay snorted. Janeway looked on incredulously, and Torres suddenly found herself feeling uncomfortable.

"Besides, if I leave his eyes undisturbed, he can always see the helm." The Klingon's voice was distorted by her canteen again, her dark features barely flushing.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Janeway finally said, allowing herself to smile at the younger woman. "I do so appreciate that."

"Well, now that we've all thanked B'Elanna for sparing my better features," Tom quipped, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder, "I'm going to hit the showers." He nodded to the Captain, as well as the Commander. "You and B'Elanna enjoy your dinner, Chakotay. But don't make the mistake of letting her pick the music."

Tom headed for the holographic locker room, not seeing the look of disappointment on the Captain's face.

When he emerged, showered and in his uniform pants and shirt, he called for the computer to terminate the program before exiting the black and orange grid.

He didn't expect Janeway to be around the corner waiting for him. She easily slid in step beside him, smiling at him as he greeted her. He looked back at her with an unreadable expression. He knew this move of hers. She wanted something. He schooled his features, suppressing any hint of suspicion.

"Can I do something for you, Captain?" he asked politely, after they'd walked a few meters.

"That depends, Tom. Do you have any plans tonight? Other than regenerating your battered body, I mean."

He let out a small laugh and shook his head.

"Nope. I have the late shift tomorrow." Janeway knew this, he was sure. "I thought I might catch up on some work tonight since I don't have to be up in the morning."

"Oh, the work will keep, Tom. It always does."

She was the last person who thought this, and the look Tom shot her told her he knew as much. She fought the urge to sigh.

She stopped walking, and so did he.

"Look, Tom, I was hoping we might talk. About your responsibilities, and a few ideas Chakotay and I talked about." His eyes narrowed and she misread his expression as anger rather than doubt. "If you don't have the time tonight, I understand."

The small lilt in her voice stirred a phantom of pain deep within him. He knew that sound all too well.

"Of course I have time, Captain," he said, smiling. "But I haven't had dinner. Mind if we grab a bite in the mess hall while we talk?"

Dinner in a public place was the last thing Janeway wanted. The truth was, she didn't just want to talk about Tom's new professional prospects. She needed to clear the air with him.

"I don't know. I walked by the mess hall earlier this afternoon and the smell wafting from Neelix's kitchen was more pungent than usual."

She lowered her voice as she said this, and he looked at her without concern. He'd gone without replicators entirely his last six months in the alternate timeline, and Neelix's supplies had been far scarcer then than they were currently. His taste buds would have preferred assimilation to eating the food presented to him, but it had at least broken him of being a finicky eater.

Tom shrugged.

"I can't say I'm all that worried, ma'am."

Her eyebrows knit together.

"But I would remiss as an officer if I put my Captain in jeopardy."

She nodded, beginning to walk again.

"Good, we'll go to my quarters then."

He followed in step behind her.

Regardless of time and place, Tom Paris' instinct was to follow Kathryn Janeway without question.

. . . . .

Sitting at Janeway's dining table, Paris was uncomfortable. To Janeway's knowledge, he'd only been in her quarters three times before this. But in Tom's memory, he'd been here dozens of times. When he'd first entered, he'd tried not to appear too comfortable. It hadn't been too hard. Worrying about looking too comfortable had made him genuinely uncomfortable. Janeway was sitting across from him now, looking at him with concern.

Tom willed his arms and legs not to twitch, adjusting the napkin that was already perfectly settled in his lap.

"What's wrong, Tom?" she asked, putting down her fork.

They'd already dispensed with the professional matters, Tom having readily agreed to take on the proposed tasks. She'd brought up the matter of rank, the fact that she and Chakotay both wanted to promote him to full Lieutenant. He'd replied that he should at least be made a Lieutenant junior grade again first, not that he didn't appreciate the compliment profoundly. She'd hesitantly agreed that he may be right, and then they'd fallen into an uncomfortable silence.

He looked at her, trying to decide what to tell her. He didn't want to tell her the truth; it would make her feel awkward. Janeway was a warm person, but she was also profoundly private. Tom knew that it took a galaxy-class starship full of patience (and maybe a compression rifle or two) to get through her personal defenses. And that was on a good day.

As if reading his thoughts, she held up her hand.

"The truth, Tom."

He sighed.

"I'm uncomfortable."

She looked at him with a mixture of confusion and pain, and he quickly tried to explain.

"I'm uncomfortable because I'm too comfortable here."

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue on. Despite himself, the words began to fall in a steady stream from his mouth.

"I'm uncomfortable because I've been to your quarters dozens of times. Because I know where the bathroom is, and that your replicator, though not a sentient being, genuinely seems to hate you. I know not to sit in the center of your couch because of that odd lump in the cushion, and that the picture of your father on the corner table falls off every time the ship shakes with enemy fire. But you refuse to move it, and just replicate a new frame every time."

He was babbling and she was watching him, her discomfort at his words melting quickly into sympathy as he continued.

"I remember countless meals at this table, even more meetings in the living room over tea. I remember waking up on that couch twice, a kink in my back both times from that damn lump."

Her eyes went wide, and he realized how his last statement sounded. He shut his eyes, his face coloring a shade that matched his uniform.

"The ready room was destroyed. It wasn't high enough on the list of priorities to rebuild."

"We met in my quarters?"

He nodded, his eyes still closed.

"Staff meetings tended to rotate. But you and I normally met here or in my quarters." He let out a deep breath. "The reports and to-do lists were never ending. A couple times I fell asleep on the couch, and you let me stay there. I wasn't sure if you thought I was too exhausted to wake, or you were just relieved to have some peace and quiet without me prattling at you."

She chuckled at his last, self-deprecating remark.

As the sound found him, he forced himself to open his eyes. When her face came into view, she was looking at him softly. She didn't say anything for a moment, but he could see the thoughts pass over her face. The discomfort that one of her officers knew so much about her. The relief that was it was him rather than Harry. Rather than B'Elanna. The guilt that she felt that way.

He knew how hard this was for her. He would undo it if he could. He hadn't done anything wrong, but he still felt guilty.

Silently, he told himself that he had, in fact, done something. He missed the other Janeway. The woman who'd suffered crippling personal losses and didn't have the energy to keep her officers at arms' length anymore; who dropped her guard around him; who, in private, used language that would make a Ferengi blush; who hugged him fiercely when B'Elanna ended their relationship, not letting go until his sobs subsided. The woman who patted his back when he began to fall asleep on her couch, kissing him affectionately on the forehead when she covered him with a blanket.

But it was so horrible to miss that woman given the cost of her existence. What it took for them to get to that point of friendship.

Despite himself, Tom's vision swam with unshed tears. He shut his eyes again, but the pressure of his eyelids only forced the moisture out of his eyes, spilling hot liquid down his cheeks. He didn't sob. He didn't make a sound.

In the silence of the room, he heard her chair scrape, and then her even breaths as she kneeled next to him. After a moment, he felt a tentative hand on his face. A gentle, tugging pressure on his left ear that forced him to open his eyes. Through the translucent veil of his tears, he could see her concerned face.

"I'm so sorry that I don't know you as well as you know me." Her voice was sincere, her eyes reflecting his own sadness. "But I want to learn about you, Tom. I want us to be friends."

He nodded, the movement casting a sprinkle of tears to fall into his lap. His eyes followed them, dropping his gaze from her eyes.

Her hand moved from his face and he felt bereft. He pushed the feeling away, wiping calmly at his cheeks. He had no doubt he was quite the sight.

"Well, that's one thing to check off the list," he said, when he finally trusted himself to speak.

She looked at him questioningly.

"Crying in front you," he supplied.

Janeway nodded solemnly.

"I suppose it's a long list."

He sighed, realizing they were past pretenses now.

"You have no idea."

The admission didn't make either of them feel any better.

. . . . .

When Janeway showed up at his door the next week, dartboard in hand, he eyed her with open suspicion. It was on the late shift again the next day, and so was she. She didn't comment on this, however. She just smiled when he opened his door, sliding past him into his quarters.

As she unwrapped the dartboard, he looked at her, obviously dubious of her actions. But then a thoughtful look crept onto his face.

Janeway noticed it.

"Care to share?" she prodded, as she looked around, deciding where to hang the board.

He knew that she would try different places over a series of days, weeks- on the wall by the replicator, above his desk console, next to the bathroom door- before settling on the wall next to the entryway. There would be barely enough room to stand, and they would have to move his dining room table whenever they played. But it would be the best option.

He didn't offer this; she would have to decide it for herself.

"I was just reflecting on the essential properties of Kathryn Janeway."

The corners of his mouth tugged upward, not a full smile, but the promise of one. Like the sun peaking out of the clouds on a rainy day. She realized that Tom was teasing her, but he was also being truthful.

"I'm listening," she said, eyeing the wall next to his replicator.

"One: she never ever asks permission."

She wasn't quite expecting that one, and her face shot up. He watched her.

She wasn't offended, just surprised. Usually people thought she was diplomatic to a fault. And in most interactions, she was. But with people she knew well, people she cared about, she charged ahead and very rarely worried about the boundaries she crossed. Except for those that were her own.

"Two: a stubborn streak that would put a Klingon to shame."

This one she expected. She smiled, looking past him to wall by the bathroom.

"So, my very essence is to be stubborn and rude. Got it." Her tone was light, without resentment. "Anything else?"

He leaned against the wall by the door.

"Three: never leaves a man when he's down."

The smile that was trying to form on his face finally appeared, though it was rueful in character.

Janeway looked at him searchingly before her eyes fell to floor. She hadn't expected him to thank her so quickly for reaching out to him, even in a round about way. She didn't think he would drop his defenses easily after the last time in her quarters. She was touched by his words but didn't know how to respond. She struggled to find her voice.

"Four: accepts compliments in an utterly unedifying fashion."

She snorted. The observation had the virtue of being true, as well as saving her from having to respond to his previous statement. She had no doubt Tom had intended it that way.

"Noted," she said, moving to stand next to the replicator. "I'll endeavor to work on that."

"I'm not holding my breath."

She rolled her eyes, holding up the dartboard.

"Here?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"If you think so." His voice was non-committal.

She eyed him suspiciously. He didn't squirm.

"Mr. Paris, why don't you just tell me where we'll end up putting this, before both my patience and the feeling in my arms give out."

She was agitated for the first time in their conversation. She tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear before looking at him pointedly.

He looked at her with reluctance before tapping the wall he was leaning on.

"Really? There doesn't seem to be enough room to stand."

"We have to move the dining table," Tom confirmed.

She sighed.

"It almost doesn't seem worth it. Maybe we should just hang it in my quarters?"

The neutral expression crept back onto his face when she suggested this. She looked at him pointedly again.

After a moment, he shook his head.

"Won't work out." He could see her wracking her brain before he explained, "your father's picture."

"We manage to knock it down? Even though it's in the corner?"

"Every time," Tom confirmed, smiling.

She let out a small huff.

"Fine. But this is only temporary. I refuse to accept that there isn't a better option."

He nodded, knowing better than to tell her otherwise.

. . . . .

Janeway sat on her helmsman's couch, slouched slightly into the cushion behind her. Tom had invited her to shed her shoes when she first entered, but she hadn't done so until now, two hours after she'd charged into his quarters, dartboard in hand.

Tom sat an arm's length away from her.

Neither one looked at the other.

When they'd finally hung the board, Janeway proposed a bit of a game. She would have tell him things about herself, and if he already knew them, he would get to take a shot. If she told him something he didn't know, it became her turn. For every throw of hers that didn't hit her target, he would have to tell her something she didn't know about him.

"Normally, games of this kind come with a punishment, rather than a reward, for failing to meet one's goals," he'd said wryly. "It doesn't seem right that for every throw you _miss_, I have to tell you something."

"Ah, but I am but a novice, Mr. Paris. And the more you help me learn the game, the more painless this will become for you."

He'd looked at her incredulously, and she flashed him a mischievous smile.

"And you've also presumptuously assumed that learning things about you is a reward."

Her tone had been the same one she always adopted when they bantered. Still, leaning against the wall, he'd folded his arms in front of him. His eyes narrowed and she'd again misread his expression for defensiveness. But he'd realized it this time, forcing softness onto his face before he began to speak.

"This is a bad idea," he'd said with patient confidence. "You're going to become uncomfortable."

He'd thought that she was quickly going to become uncomfortable, but he'd chosen to omit the adverb.

She'd been undeterred, her wry grin staying put.

"We can make a few ground rules about what, exactly, you're allowed to disclose to me. If you're worried you're going to cross any lines."

He'd looked at her, unblinking. For a moment, her optimism faltered.

"Not what I mean." He'd stood up straight, dropping his arms to his sides when he continued. "You're going to become uncomfortable when you realize how much I know about you."

The smile fell from her face, replaced with a look of resolve.

"Do you really think my wondering what, precisely, you know about me is better that having concrete answers?"

"Yes," he'd replied with unflinching certainty.

But she'd pushed, and he'd acquiesced.

In the end, Tom had been right.

Sitting near him on the couch now, she struggled to accept how much Tom knew about her.

He knew that she'd been engaged twice; once to a man who died on the same frozen planet as her father, and then to a man who'd moved on, marrying another, when _Voyager_ was declared lost. He knew that she secretly hated every coffee substitute that Neelix produced and that she wished he would give up the pursuit. (Tom warned her here, managing a lightness in his tone, that if ever they were without replicators entirely, she would be grateful for the Talaxian's preoccupation with her favorite beverage.) He knew that while she was close with both her mother and her sister, she'd always been closer with father, the other two women in the Janeway household possessing a bond that she seemed somehow on the outside of.

Tom even knew that when she was seven, she'd cheated on a history quiz. She hadn't been caught, and she didn't confess. After weeks, the guilt threatened to eat her alive, and she deliberately failed the next two assignments as an act of self-flagellation. The disappointment in her father's eyes when she brought home the abysmal grades had been a far worse punishment that anything she would have been subjected to if she'd just confessed to her teacher.

Tom must have known this, too; he'd briefly touched her arm when she'd glossed over the youthful indiscretion.

Of course, in the midst of her charting Tom's seemingly endless knowledge of her, she'd in turn learned about him.

He'd always loved music, but in the alternate timeline- without replicators, holodecks- it became a creature comfort that saved his sanity, as well as the rest of the crew's. On the other _Voyager_, they'd played music in the turbolifts, in the mess hall. Even in the corridors sometimes. Despite the other recreational options available to him now, Tom still felt grounded by music, playing it whenever he was able.

His favorite ice cream flavor was pistachio, but he didn't really care for actual pistachios. He knew how to water ski, though he preferred sailing. He had his first real girlfriend at the age of seventeen, later than she would have thought give his ease with women. He'd realized with dismay and confusion that she was more interested in the fame of his family name than in him. This had jaded him at an early age- both in regard to relationships with women and having the last name Paris.

He'd admitted, with a profound embarrassment she found amusing, that he hated that one of the bright and shining forefathers of the Starfleet was James T. Kirk. Tom thought the man a smart Captain and a brave man, but remarked that it was entirely too telling of Starfleet's recurring demons that they were all expected to look past Kirk's xenophobia in regard to the Klingons, his self-importance, the womanizing.

Janeway understood. It was sacrilege, especially in a Starfleet family, to speak ill of the pioneers who'd gone before them. But she also knew that if Kirk was her contemporary, he would try to bed her, and when that failed, would lose interest in her as a colleague. She hadn't said anything in response to Tom's comments, giving him a look of sympathy instead.

Now, staring at her as she sat on thought on his couch, he was giving her a look that was remarkably similar to the one she'd given him then. He understood why she was doing this and he appreciated her efforts. But he worried they were rushing things. Worse, he worried they were forcing a round peg into a square hole. She wasn't the same woman he became friends with before.

"There's nothing that says we have to do this all at once," he finally said, when too much time had elapsed without either of them speaking. "We don't have to force it. We can give it time."

She knew his concerns were largely for her rather than himself, that he understood she felt like her privacy was being invaded.

But Tom didn't know that before all of this happened, before he suddenly woke up on the floor of Flyer with a wellspring of intimate knowledge about her, Janeway had begun to feel isolated, alone. Five years in the Delta Quadrant had taken its toll. She had Chakotay and she had Tuvok, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to have to play the roll of Captain even in her off-duty time.

As much as Tom's new understanding of her made her feel uneasy, it also gave her hope.

Janeway wasn't trying just for him, she was trying for herself, too.

"You're right. But not matter what we do, you're always going to have a head start on me. There's no getting around that."

Tom didn't reply, his face twisting in thought.

A mournful song wafted through his quarters. Tom had let the computer choose music from his archive at random, and it was the second time this song had played that evening. Janeway remembered that it had also played in Sandrine's the night that they'd first talked about his memories.

"I rather like this song," she said, randomly. She wasn't trying to break the silence or derail their line of conversation. She said it just because she was thinking it.

He looked at her with an expression that was difficult to read. And then she realized he was trying to stifle laughter.

"What?" she asked, genuinely confused.

He stretched forward to the coffee table, plucking one of the discarded darts. Then he slouched back on the couch, lobbing the dart with remarkable ease at the board that was across from them. It struck just to the right of center, and Janeway sat incredulous.

He'd thrown the dart because she'd told him something he already knew. She rubbed her face, laughter overtaking her as she pondered how ludicrous this all was.

"You make the rules. I just play by them," Tom said, smirking.

She glared at him, but it wasn't one of genuine displeasure.

He suddenly felt optimistic. Laughing with her about the absurdity of their situation, feeling affection and frustration roll off her in waves; this was familiar territory to him.

"This is going to get old rather quickly." She shook her head, feeling her amusement begin to give way to fatigue.

"Maybe. Or maybe you'll like it." He smiled wildly at her; the smile he often wore before he was saddled with the memories of a struggling ship and dead comrades. "Just maybe, in time, you won't be able to remember how you ever lived on this ship without counting me as one of your closest friends."

His optimism was contagious. So was his dark sense of humor.

"Highly doubtful," she taunted. "But maybe when I get sick and tired of spending time with you, B'Elanna and I will have more to talk about. More in common."

He paused, and she worried her mouth had been faster then her brain.

"You know, you were much easier to get along with when you were dead, Captain."

They both chuckled darkly at his joke as the familiar song continued on.

. . . . .

Paris and Janeway sat in the Delta Flyer, waiting for the computer to finish running the analysis of the minerals they collected.

It would take almost three hours, but Janeway didn't mind the wait. The three hours were a welcome break from _Voyager_ and her daily routine. Only Tuvok had tried to keep her on board when she said that she was going. Everyone knew the mission was barely a job for an Ensign, let alone the Captain, but it had been five years, and they all knew this mood. There was no sense fighting it.

When she'd looked at Tom and said, "you're with me, Mr. Paris," she'd expected him to look uneasy or at least flinch. The two of them hadn't been on the Flyer together since the anomaly and she was worried this was going to bring back bad memories for him.

She inwardly cringed at the word 'memories', even though she'd only thought it.

She'd been relieved when he'd flashed her a smile and said, "yes ma'am" in an almost boyish tone. She was grateful that her request was a painless one for him. She needed it to be Tom that kept her company on the Flyer. He would be comfortable with her, a pleasant companion who wouldn't rush to fill the silences with chatter.

He wouldn't question her need to leave the ship. He wouldn't look at her with thinly veiled concern the way Chakotay did, or thickly veiled reproach the way Tuvok did.

Paris had followed his Captain to the lift, and they stood in silence for half the journey to the shuttle bay. But then he'd turned to look at her, a seemingly solemn expression on his face.

"If I make it to Commander in the next anomaly, I only ask that I get to keep the rank."

The only thing that had thrown off his deadpan delivery was the twinkling of his eyes. She'd chuckled, immediately flooded with even greater relief that it was Tom going with her.

"Deal," she'd replied with a nod.

Now, sitting in the Flyer, they both sat doing work. Tom played music, rigging it to decrease in volume or else stop entirely if the computer needed to alert them of anything.

She thought Tom's music tastes were eclectic. He liked classical music, as well as jazz. Even Klingon opera. But she knew his favorite music came from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. It was what he played now, and she'd heard a great deal of this kind of music lately, as other members of her staff began to pick out things they liked from Tom's archive of ancient music.

She'd learned that Tom loved music that sounded a little rowdy, like it should be playing in a bar over the dull din of a restless crowd. She liked rowdy music, too, though she hadn't quite realized this until she started spending time with Tom.

_I have waited all my life. You say you are bona fide, to be my judge. Lay your law down on me, love. _

_Seven devils, bring them on. I have left my weapons, 'cause I think you're wrong. These devils of yours, they need love. _

_Come and kneel with me, body and soul. Come and kneel with me, body and soul. Body and soul. _

The beat of the song was raucous. Slightly dark. The woman's voice was sultry, but she easily changed her pitch to something unnatural, something alarming.

Janeway's foot began to tap, but she didn't look up from her PADD. Tom smiled, seeing her out of the corner of her eye. He kept plugging away at his work.

After another minute, Janeway's head began moving to the music, though only slightly. Tom tore his eyes away from the report he was tinkering with, looking at her with an open grin on his face. She looked up at him, not seeming embarrassed.

"Maybe I should change this to be our new standard greeting," she remarked, sipping her coffee and looking at him over the rim.

Her mood was interesting today. Dark. But not brooding. Tom rather liked it.

"I'm sure we could tweak the audio file. Work 'Captain Kathryn Janeway of the starship _Voyager_' somewhere into the refrain somehow."

They looked at each other. The song was full of sexual innuendos. And she was a female captain. An attractive one. It was a fact that caused more than one wrinkle in their negotiations with alien dignitaries. A fact that made Chakotay grip his chair like it was a bucking bronco when she was down on a planet with people they didn't quite trust. A fact that probably would have shaved years off her Security Officer's lifespan, if he weren't a Vulcan and, thus, equipped to handle stress well.

No one ever commented on this, not even in private.

"I'll let you take it up with Tuvok," she pronounced, as though seriously considering the change.

She went back to her PADD, and he to his report. They both smirked, an her foot kept tapping to the music.

When it was time to return to _Voyager_, lines appeared at the corners of Janeway's mouth, threatening a frown. She didn't say anything other than indicating for him to bring the Flyer about and head back to the ship. She leaned back in her chair, trying to get the kinks out of her neck. The silence seemed to stretch, and for first time that afternoon it wasn't a comfortable quiet.

"You know," he started, realizing he would have to take the initiative. "I'm always happy to go with you on these little jaunts, the threat of altered memories not withstanding."

Behind him, she snorted.

"But you don't have to kidnap me on a shuttle to get a little R & R. We can do things together whenever you like."

"We already do things together." Her tone was peevish, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

In truth, they had spent a great deal more time together in the last month and a half. When she ate in the mess hall, he would normally join her, his schedule allowing. She'd begun to drop by his quarters on his days off, or else when she knew he didn't have to be up early the next day. He still didn't show up at her quarters without invitation, a fact that didn't escape her, but they were more comfortable with each other. They were genuinely becoming friends.

"I meant things other than skulk around my quarters," he said, turning from the conn, his face earnest.

She gave him a withering look, but it didn't deter him.

"Seriously. We can go sailing on the holodeck. Play tennis with Harry and Chakotay."

Janeway had heard that Harry was quite good at tennis. She knew for a fact that Chakotay was just awful.

"We could run the Captain Proton program."

He smirked and the frown that was hovering at her mouth went away, the corners of her lips tugging the opposite direction.

"I think I've had quite enough of Captain Proton for some time, Tom."

The incident with the photonic aliens had been two week after his release from Sickbay. It had helped to ground Tom in a strange way. And it had been hysterical to see Janeway as Queen Arachnia.

Secretly, Janeway had enjoyed it, too.

"And I thought you'd like being Queen."

"I did. But I hated the shoes."

She looked at him with a genuine smile, and his earnest expression returned.

"I'm just saying you don't need an excuse to let yourself relax."

Her smile dimmed at this words but didn't disappear completely.

"I'll take it under advisement, Mr. Paris."

Tom turned back around, sitting back in his chair with a thud. This was what Janeway always said when she didn't want to say 'no' but had no intention at all of saying 'yes'. It was an old tune, and he knew it well.

Tom sighed, tapping his index finger in time to the music that played in the background as he plotted their course.


	3. In polite company

Chapter 3: In polite company

When the door to Tom's quarters chimed, he was in the sonic shower. He'd just gone off duty, having spent six hours cataloging the medical supplies they'd just procured from the Bailorians.

The Bailorian government had been friendly enough. At least once they realized it was _Voyager_ who, two months back, had stopped the thirty-odd smart bombs that failed to disengage after they were accidentally launched by the Drouda, targeting one of the Bailorian bases. Still, their government seemed to Paris to be the bureaucracy from hell- favoring long, painfully legalistic negotiations, followed by even longer, more painful formal receptions.

Tom had spent three hours in the trade proceedings that morning before heading to Sickbay for his regular shift. This was after he, along with the rest of the senior staff, had spent four hours at a formal event the night before down on the Bailorian homeworld.

Tom thought they were four hours of his life that they would never get back, and would have happily preferred spending them reading legal documents or cataloging supplies. Or perhaps enduring a few Vidiian medical experiments.

Pulling on his black slacks, he walked into his living area. Harry had just gotten off duty in the last hour, having spent the entire day in the negotiating room with Janeway and other members of the senior staff. Tom assumed the Ensign was in need of his best friend and maybe a beer.

He called for entry as he shook out his grey uniform shirt.

When the doors to his quarters opened, Janeway was surprised to be greeted by a barefoot and bare-chested Tom.

"Hi," Tom said with a small smile.

He took note of the slightly pinched look on her face and tugged on his shirt.

"I thought you were Harry."

She nodded, moving to enter his quarters as he finished clothing himself. As he walked to the replicator to procure a cup of coffee for her, she flopped down in the chair that was cattycorner from his couch.

Tom eyed her.

Janeway typically sat down gracefully, like the Flyer coming fluidly to halt. When she was angry, she sat down with a little extra force. If she'd been made to drink one of Neelix's coffee substitutes or the Doctor was nagging her about her habits, the forceful expelling of air could be heard as she lowered herself into her seat. But Kathryn Janeway very rarely flopped, even in private.

"Bad day?" he asked, handing her the warm mug.

She took it with a look of appreciation but said nothing, sitting back in the chair a little farther as she took her first sip.

"I could always replicate whiskey to go in that, you know."

A small rueful smile appeared on her lips and she rubbed her bleary eyes.

"You have no idea how tempting that is." Her voice betrayed her exhaustion even more profoundly than her posture did, her words coming out as practically a yawn. "Unfortunately, I'm due to transport down to a formal dinner in about an hour, and I don't think it would do for _Voyager_'s Captain and head diplomat to show up slurring her words."

Tom didn't laugh at the joke. Instead, his face contorted in obvious horror.

"They're having _another_ reception?" He sat down the cup of tea he'd replicated for himself. "You have to be kidding me."

Beyond the reception they'd already attended the night before, there was another event scheduled two nights later, intended by the Bailorians to mark the end of their trade negotiations. They'd been informed of it when first beginning discussions, the Bailorian Prefect explaining the formality in as drawn-out a way as possible.

The fact that this meant the Bailorians expected negotiations to go on for three full days wasn't lost on Janeway. Or on Paris.

Janeway sighed, closing her eyes.

"Well, this one isn't meant for _Voyager_. It's in honor of their elections."

The Bailorians had just concluded elections in their capital city when _Voyager_ entered orbit. They were boastful about these political events, and long speeches had been given about them even during the opening discussions with Janeway and her staff. Tom had remarked that morning, when he and Janeway were alone in a turbolift, that it never boded well when a political organization was so self-congratulatory about their openness, their accomplishments by way of freedom. Janeway had nodded in silent agreement.

On the couch, Tom crossed his arms.

"And you got roped into going as a show of good will?"

Janeway's face clouded, her expression becoming difficult to read. Tom watched her with unmasked curiosity.

"Minister Devra invited me. It's an event at his home, from what I understand. Thirty or forty diplomats, their spouses, including the Prefect and his full cabinet." Janeway's voice was neutral, professional.

At the mention of Minister Devra, Tom's eyebrows shut up to the ceiling.

Minister Devra was the Bailorians' head of commerce and trade. More importantly, he was a close friend of the Prefect and seemed to have his ear. There was nothing immediately off-putting about Devra, but there was something about the man that neither Janeway or Paris quite liked. He was a bit too friendly and smiled too often. He had a sheen on him that reminded Tom of some the officers that passed through the formal gatherings at the Paris family home.

He also starred at Janeway a little too long.

"Oh?" Tom asked politely, hiding his face behind his mug.

Janeway felt the passing the urge to glare at him. Instead, she sighed again.

"I don't think it's particularly advisable that I go alone."

She closed her eyes, scooting down in her chair and stretching her legs out in front of her. It was a particularly uncharacteristic posture for her. But then, she was having a particularly uncharacteristic conversation.

"I tend to agree."

Tom's tone was serious, free of humor. He wouldn't meet Janeway's decision to open up to him about this with a sarcastic remark at her expense, however good natured.

"You could take Tuvok or Chakotay. I'm sure Tuvok wouldn't mind." Tom paused. "And I'm sure Chakotay would forgive you, eventually."

Janeway chuckled.

While the tedious diplomatic process had been the most aggravating for Janeway, she hadn't shown it . She'd long ago learned to hide her restless behind a serene smile and a composed posture. Chakotay, though a far more patient person by nature, wasn't as practiced. Two hours into the day's talks, the Commander's leg bounced restlessly. And twice, when he'd caught Devra staring at Janeway, he'd permitted himself a small glare.

Tom had seen it both times. The second time, he found the Commander's eyes, giving him a sympathetic look. But the helmsman had followed it with a serious expression, and a small shake of his head. It was a subtle warning, a friendly reminder. Chakotay returned Tom's gaze briefly before schooling his face and straightening up in his chair.

Janeway had watched it all from her position at the end of the table and felt silently grateful as the Prefect drowned on and on across from her.

"I don't think taking Chakotay is any more advisable than going alone," Janeway remarked, her eyes still closed and her body still slumped in her seat. "And I don't think taking Tuvok. . . would send the exact message I want."

Tom nodded even though she couldn't see him.

Tuvok would look like a formal escort, someone Devra would maneuver around before trying to chat her up. Chakotay could look like a personal escort, but if Devra batted an eyelash wrong at Janeway, there was potential for disaster.

Neither Paris nor Janeway thought Devra was any kind of threat. He was just the average, obnoxious, slightly lecherous diplomat- the kind that who were just as rife the Alpha Quadrant as the Delta Quadrant. He was someone to be avoided, kept at arms' length whilst being impeccably polite. He was also someone who could make things hard on them in negotiations if he was riled.

Janeway opened one eye, angling her face to Tom.

"I rather hoped you'd join me."

She'd been hoping he would offer so she wouldn't have to ask. But she realized that this was a foolish thought. Tom was unwavering in his kindness and understanding toward her but he largely let her take the lead in their friendship. There's no way he would presumptuously offer to accompany her to something like this.

If he was surprised by her request, he didn't show it.

"I suppose I can't send you off into the night alone. At least not with Minister Devra waiting for you." His voice was kind, yet laced with fatigue.

Janeway knew that Tom hated beaurcratic displays of pomposity more than she did. Though they'd both grown up with admirals for fathers, Tom had been subjected to far more of these dog and pony shows than she ever had. She felt guilty asking him. But she also knew he wouldn't refuse her. Not in this.

As Tom rose off the couch, his door chimed. Janeway sat up in her chair immediately, and Tom stifled a chuckle as he called for whoever it was to enter.

Harry plowed into Tom's quarters, not realizing that his Captain was sitting in his best friend's living room.

"I need a drink. Possibly six of them. If I have to sit through another one of those damned speeches, I'm going to take myself out with a phaser-"

Harry's voice cut off when his eyes took in that Janeway was there. The young man's mouth clamped shut, his eyes alight with horror.

"Captain," he greeted formally, as if acknowledging her on the bridge at the start of their shift.

Janeway couldn't help herself. She laughed. Tom smiled, scratching his head.

"Ensign," she said finally, rising from the chair.

She was going to leave them to talk. She knew Harry needed to vent to Tom, and there was no way he was going to do that with her in the room. But before she could move to leave, Harry was already backing to the door.

"I didn't realize you were busy, Tom," Harry said, ignoring the fact that Tom was motioning for him to stay. "I'll catch you later."

Kim nodded to the Captain before exiting swiftly, almost bumping into the wall on his way out.

Janeway cringed and Tom shook his head.

"Have I missed something?" Tom asked when Kim had exited. "Do you secretly grow fangs and horns when I'm not watching? Maybe a tail?"

His face was close to incredulous, and the mixture of amusement and bewilderment made Janeway smile.

"Surely you remember how intimidated you were by your first CO."

She shot Tom a glance, knowing that Tom, steeped in Starfleet tradition at an early age, had probably never been as nervous with a CO as Harry Kim was around her. She just hadn't know what else to say.

"But it's been five years! I mean, don't get me wrong, the guy's unending devotion and reverence for you makes me like him even more." Though Tom's tone was jocular his affection was sincere. "But one of these days he's going to actually hurt himself, running away from you like that."

Janeway chuckled at his statement, putting her empty coffee cup down on the table.

This was how Tom often spoke of Harry now. They were still close, and Tom was far and away Harry's best friend. But to Tom, Harry was like an adored kid brother.

He'd always been, really, but prior to the temporal anomaly, Harry and Tom had felt more like equals. Afterward, Tom was even farther removed from Harry in experience and maturity, the helmsman becoming more equally matched with Chakotay. Even the Captain.

The two men still spent time together, and Harry didn't feel neglected. But the young man had noticed the subtle shift in their friendship, as well as the personal and professional changes in his friend.

Kim sometimes missed the old Tom. But mostly, he felt resounding pride.

Tom stretched his tired body, looking at Janeway.

"So am I to wear my formal uniform?"

Janeway shook her head.

"It's a private party, not an official function. I was told no one would be in uniform." She smiled. "Wear something appropriate for escorting-"

"A Captain and a lady?" Tom finished, smirking at her.

Janeway rolled her eyes and he thought about teasing her further; telling her to wear something that shielded every centimeter of her skin from Devra's invasive stare. Perhaps an atmospheric suit. He decided against it, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

He shouldn't have bothered, as Janeway anticipated the joke.

"I'll try to wear something completely unflattering," she drawled, moving to the door. "Make your job a little easier."

"Good luck," he snorted.

For a moment, she looked at him. This was a rare kind of compliment given her position. She smiled after a brief hesitation.

"Maybe I'll just wear my bathrobe."

Paris shot her a look. He had seen her robe; once when she rushed to Sickbay in the middle of the night and another time when he stopped by her quarters with a report she'd asked for hours earlier. And that was just in their actual timeline. Tom thought of the pink satin garment, his face rueful.

"I think that would be profoundly unhelpful."

Janeway rolled her eyes, activating the entrance's sensors as she went to leave. She stopped short, however; retreating far enough so that the doors would close behind her. She turned around and Tom looked at her expectantly.

"Tom, you're going to need to use my first name when we're down there."

This little maneuver with Devra wouldn't work if Tom dutifully called her 'Captain' the entire time they were at the reception. She might as well bring Tuvok. It was merely coincidental, Janeway told herself, that she had been patiently waiting for him to drop titles now that they had become friends.

It didn't occur to her that Tom wasn't uncomfortable calling her by her first name, only waiting for the invitation.

She looked at him anxiously and he looked at her as though she'd just hesitantly requested something that was a given- something that was slightly insulting for someone to be nervous about him doing. Like wearing shoes or cleaning his teeth.

"Not a problem, Kathryn."

She nodded, calling over her shoulder as she exited.

"Meet you in the transporter room in thirty minutes. And don't be late."

In the turbolift back to her quarters, she realized her gaffe regarding her first name. Tom was comfortable with the give and take between the professional and the personal, but there were some things that were sacred code to him, having been raised by Owen Paris. It didn't matter how rebellious a son Tom had been. Addressing a superior by first name without permission was at the top of that list.

He'd been patiently waiting to call her by first name, but she hadn't taken the hint. Inwardly, Janeway kicked herself. She always seemed to be a day late and a dollar short when it came to Paris.

As her lift sped to its destination, she muttered colorful curses in Ferengi that would have made Harry Kim blush down to his belly button.

. . . . . .

As Janeway stood talking to the Prefect Kevla and his wife, Paris chatted a meter away with the Bailorian Finance Minister and a group of the Prefect's staff. Devra was in another room, but Tom had been careful to stay close to Janeway the entire evening, just in case.

It was no small achievement. Devra's home was actually the Bailorian equivalent to a sprawling mansion. The series of large rooms filled with art and opulent furniture seemed endless. Outside, there was what looked like a shuttle pad, an area for some kind of sporting event; innumerable manicured landscapes.

The Paris family home was large, a family homestead that had been passed down through several generations of prosperity. But Devra's estate made the Paris mansion look like a ramshackle hut. When they'd first transported down, Paris had let out a long whistle. Janeway had cringed. Such immense wealth being openly displayed by a state official was never a good sign.

Now, Janeway chatted away with Prefect Kevla about the most recent elections, asking questions that conveyed interest without betraying suspicion or judgment.

Behind the Prefect, Paris was telling some kind of anecdote to the group of on-lookers, the beige flesh around the Finance Minister's mouth contracting around his thin slips as he laughed. Janeway watched the group with interest. Tom was a natural at these kind of events. He quickly collected a crowd of people who listened to him speak, but he in turn let them dominate the conversation when the topic turned to something that interested them.

Janeway wondered if this was why he found this kind of thing so exhausting; he spent the entire time walking the social high wire. He made it look effortless, but Janeway knew he would rather be anywhere else.

As Janeway watched Paris, Devra appeared in the room. He was several meters beyond Tom, and so she and pesky Minister made eye contact as she attempted to observe her helmsman. Devra smiled one of his all-too-practiced smiles, moving toward them. Turning her eyes back to the Prefect, Janeway inwardly groaned.

The Prefect finished his long statement about the nobility of his government's actions in the their latest political turmoil (a tiny little uprising that, he assured Janeway earlier in the evening, was an isolated event, led by a group of radical separatists who wouldn't be satisfied with any political consolation; who, in turn, had been promptly given nothing before revolting). The Bailorian diplomats had all vaguely acknowledged these events, but their domestic disturbances weren't something to be openly aired with alien company, no matter how polite.

She was surprised to hear Tom's voice chime in beside her, as he asked the Prefect a question she didn't quite register. She turned to see that he'd departed his previous interlocutors, joining their group with practiced ease.

Paris didn't look at Janeway, keeping his eyes studiously on the Prefect as the leader went into a long, verbose reply. But as Tom listened, he threaded his arm through Kathryn's. A familiar gesture. A silent marker of intimacy. Past the Prefect's head, she saw Devra's face fall. He was two meters away, having aborted his approach when he saw Paris join Janeway at the Prefect's side.

His face had fallen in precisely the same way when Paris and Janeway had come through the grand entry way together, Tom guiding her with a hand on the small of her back.

Janeway repressed the smirk that threatened to break out on her face. She felt grateful for the hundredth time that evening that Tom had agreed to accompany her.

When she returned her attentions back to the conversation, Tom was engaging the Prefect's wife. They were talking about music, and the Prefect smiled with pride as his wife spoke of their eldest daughter's achievements at an instrument that sounded something akin to a violin or a viola.

Tom beamed.

"Both of my older sisters play stringed instruments." He added, seeming regretful, "I'm the only one of my parents' children who doesn't play."

The Prefect shook his head, putting a hand on Tom's shoulder.

"You should really learn when you have time. If only for your mother's sake."

Janeway had looked on with interest as the Prefect chided him with almost fatherly affection. But now she inwardly cringed. Tom's mother had died when he was younger. Not long before his ill-fated time with the Maquis. She saw the faintest traces of pain appear on Tom's face briefly, but then his smile reappeared.

"Maybe I will. A gift for my father when I get home."

When Tom made the pronouncement, the sincerity in his voice stirred something in Janeway. She touched the arm that looped through hers with her free hand.

Before long, the Prefect's wife was shooing them off to go join the festivities. An orchestra of sorts had begun to play, and people in the large room next to the one they occupied had begun to dance. Tom led Kathryn away, their arms still intertwined.

The closest thing Tom could compare the Bailorian dance to was a waltz. He watched the steps for a minute silently before he moved forward to the ballroom floor. Kathryn hadn't picked up on the steps as fast Tom had, but she'd grasped the fundamentals. She trusted Tom leading would fill in the rest.

After a few minutes, they moved fluidly. They both watched, subtly, the Prefect and his wife regarding them with approval.

"Always win over the wife," Tom commented, his voice low in Kathryn's ear. "After that, everything else falls into place."

She pulled back to look him, a smirk having appeared on his face. She knew that Tom's affection for Kevla's wife was genuine. The second the older woman mentioned music, she had him. Still, Janeway knew that the woman's good graces would be invaluable to them, and Paris knew it, too.

Janeway shook her head slightly.

"Remind me to take you along to all of these functions in the future."

As she spoke, Paris saw Devra's face appear in the crowd, watching them with interest. Tom moved them easily across the dance floor, to the other side of the room.

"That sounds more like a threat than a compliment," he retorted, looking for the Minister's beady eyes, but not seeing them.

The hand that was placed on his right shoulder patted him affectionately.

"Now you know how I feel whenever you bring up the Captain Proton program."

She smiled wickedly and he glowered, letting out a heavy sigh. She knew that he was beginning to wilt. So was she.

"We should be able to extract ourselves soon, Tom," she promised, no longer looking up at him.

The breath he let out moved the hair at the crown of her head.

"Get me out of here, Kathryn, and I'll do whatever you want. I'll delete Captain Proton forever."

She patted his shoulder again, and they turned and turned, the Prefect and his wife still watching them with polite interest.

. . . . .

On the bridge, Janeway clutched the side of her chair, her face examining the computer console between herself and Chakotay's empty chair.

There was nothing new to read, of course. But examining it gave her something to do. It allowed her put on a mask of neutral observation while the fear churned her stomach, acid beginning to creep up her throat.

It had been two days since Chakotay and Tom's shuttle had crash landed on the barren planet _Voyager_ was now orbiting. The two men were slated to be gone for four days, and _Voyager_ hadn't even known to look for them until they reached the rendezvous point and their shuttle was suspiciously absent. It had taken Tuvok and Harry five hours to find the emergency flares Chakotay had sent out when the Cochran's engines had gone into distress above the planet. Another two to locate them on the planet's largest- and coldest- continent, before realizing that there was no way to cut through the disturbance in the planet's atmosphere with _Voyager_'s transporters.

As the Flyer made its way down to the planet's inhospitable surface, Janeway remembered the Chakotay and Tom's exchange after Chakotay had volunteered to go with him. The three of them had been in Janeway's ready room when Seven of Nine commed to inform her that the system they were entering looked to be rich in dilithium.

"Fine," Tom had said, looking at Chakotay with a smirk, "but so help me, if you crash my shuttle, I'm not going to protect you from B'Elanna. She still hasn't forgiven you for all the time her crew spent repairing the last shuttle you took out."

She'd smiled despite her First Officer's put off expression.

"You're worried about _me_, Paris?" Chakotay had here gestured dramatically, a behavior he'd picked up from Tom. "I'm the one who should be concerned. You have the worst track record of all us when it comes to missions."

Tom had shot the Commander a mock glare. But then the Captain gave Chakotay a look of agreement and Tom had hung his head, beginning to laugh. There was no denying it, really.

Tom had broken the warp ten barrier only to evolve into an unrecognizable creature- leaving the ship and taking Janeway with him. Before that, he'd been captured, along with B'Elanna and another officer who perished, by the Vidiians. He'd been stuck on a planet with Neelix. Only weeks after his encounter with the temporal anomaly, he and Tuvok had been almost been pulled into a subspace rift with a temporal phase variant. Given Tom's quick thinking, they hadn't been pulled into it entirely, but it could have been much worse. (Tuvok later remarked to Janeway, his face bearing characteristic stoicism, that Mr. Paris had seemed "rather irritated" that he had encountered another temporal anomaly.)

And this to say nothing of his two and half years of memories that he accrued on the ill-fated mission with the Captain and Seven.

At the time, she'd laughed at Chakotay's joke. But it now seemed a horrible prophecy. She'd stood over Tom's motionless body more times than she'd care to count. The man just had rotten luck. He'd told her the other month, after he'd been given a nasty shock by one of the Flyer's panels during repairs, that it was the universe's way of evening out the fact that he'd been made "so damned handsome and charming."

Waiting on the bridge for word about Chakotay and Tom, his joke failed to make her smile.

When Tuvok's voice finally rang out from her communicator that they had both officers, alive, she didn't try to hide her immense relief.

It was relief that was short-lived. Both men had to be beamed directly to Sickbay for extreme hypothermia. When she charged down to Sickbay, the Doctor was working frantically.

"I'm a Doctor, not a fortune teller," the hologram said, after the second time she asked for both men's prognosis.

He unceremoniously kicked her out of the room a minute after that.

Two days later, she returned to Sickbay to check in on their recovery.

She was greeted by an irate Doctor. He was going on and on about Tom- his gall, his pomposity. She didn't quite catch everything at first; the Doctor managed sometimes to combine verbosity with a pronounced lack of clarity. A talent she didn't envy. But after two minutes, she was able to ascertain that Tom had gotten angry at the Doctor when the Doctor went to discharge him, that the Lieutenant had deactivated him before storming out of Sickbay without approval.

Janeway was surprised. This wasn't like Tom. She affectionately patted the Doctor on the shoulder, a thoughtful expression on her face.

When the Doctor left her to go heal a crewman in engineering shortly afterward, Janeway approached Chakotay's bedside.

"Hi," she said, seeing he was awake. He'd been silent during her exchange with the Doctor, and she assumed him to be sleeping. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a class two shuttle landed on me." He tried to smile but grimaced instead. "Or I went nine rounds with B'Elanna."

Janeway's hand settled on Chakotay's arm. She'd come close to losing him. Losing both of them.

Chakotay looked up at her, smiling affectionately. It was a look that, a few years earlier, would have been accompanied by the shadow of something else. Perhaps longing. But now his gaze was familiar, serene.

After a moment his serenity faltered, and she looked questioningly into his face.

Neither he nor Tom had submitted a report yet. Janeway didn't know that when Chakotay had begun drifting into unconsciousness first, Tom had wrapped his own thermal blanket around him, and then his jacket. The only realize Tom's body had staved off the hypothermia longer than Chakotay's was the adrenaline and fear that pumped through him as he feverishly and selflessly worked to keep the older man alive.

"About the Doctor," Chakotay said, motioning slightly to the door with his head.

Janeway waited for him to go on, interest playing across her face.

"He lectured Tom about his actions on the planet. About the things he did to save me."

Janeway's brow furrowed, curiosity giving way to concern.

Chakotay hesitated. He didn't want to go into detail of things she would have to read later in his report, but he needed to communicate some things now. He needed to tell her things that wouldn't be appearing in his report, or even his personal log.

"Tom acted selflessly. He saved me at risk to himself. The way the Doctor spoke to him earlier, the way he berated him. . ." Chakotay's eyes narrowed. "He's lucky Tom was kind enough only to deactivate him rather than decompiling him altogether."

The uncharacteristic rancor in Chakotay's last words struck Janeway immediately. She patted his arm.

"I suspected as much," she said, shaking her head.

She hadn't known that Tom had done anything heroic on the planet. As much as it filled her both with pride as well as frustration, it also didn't surprise her. Nor was she surprised that the Doctor's own behavior had touched off his argument with Paris. She knew that the Doctor respected and cared deeply for Tom as a friend and colleague. But the Doctor's way of showing his concern was often off-putting, to say the least.

"I'll talk to the Doctor later. In the meantime, you should rest."

"Kathryn," he grabbed her hand before she could move away.

His face was somber, and the trickle of concern that began earlier suddenly welled within her.

"Down on the planet, when Tom was trying to keep me conscious. He spoke to me. He thought I was going to die, and he said things. Things you should know. . ."

Chakotay stopped, needing to rest for a moment. Needing to find the strength in more ways than one.

The silence did nothing to help Kathryn's fear.

The Commander closed his eyes, fighting the pain that he was betraying his friend. Fighting the feeling that, despite his better judgment, this was not his pain to tell her, not his demon to let loose. When he opened his eyes again, the conflict was evident, his dark eyes glossy with unshed tears. Kathryn instinctively cupped his face, remaining silent as he struggled in front of her.

"Kathryn, he was begging me not to die."

Chakotay's voice was a whisper. Smaller than she'd ever heard it. The desperation in his usually calm demeanor broke her more than his words did.

"He kept telling me that he couldn't bring my dead body back to you. Yelling at me that I wasn't allowed to leave you again."

Chakotay closed his eyes again, remembering the younger man's voice finding him through the growing haze in his mind; his words moving from frantic pleas to angry shouts and then back again. His speech broken up by savage cursing. And sometimes choked sobs. Chakotay shook his head, but the memory of Tom's voice still filled his ears.

Janeway's shoulders slumped, her concern dissolving slowly into a wave of pain that worked its way through her body before finding a home on her face. Chakotay clutched her hand tighter.

"I think this has all been harder on him than we knew. I think he's been carrying this around alone for nine months."

Chakotay's voice was filled with guilt and regret. Still, the reality of what he was saying smacked her like an accusation. The part of her that wasn't already numb with pain ached a little more. She sighed, slowly dropping her forehead to Chakotay's arm.

The movement surprised him but he stayed still, waiting for her to gather herself. Waiting for her to realize that she was the Captain and she didn't have the luxury to wallow. The realization didn't come. At least, not immediately.

"I failed him, Chakotay."

Her voice was partially drowned out as she buried her head in the sleeve of his medical gown.

He wanted to reassure her. It was her job as First Officer, as well as her friend. But it was also his job to be honest with her, and he reached for the only truth he had available to him.

"I think we all failed him."

Chakotay's voice was still hushed when he spoke, but his words seemed to echo throughout room.

. . . . . .

Janeway was surprised to learn that Paris was in the holodeck. She hadn't expect to find him in his quarters. When he was upset he found them oppressive, memories of darker days and things that had not come to pass haunting him there. Despite this, Tom really only spent time on the holodeck in the company of others.

The holodeck had become a means to end for him, a way to pass time with B'Elanna and Harry, as well as Chakotay. When he was alone, or else with her, he tended to wander the ship if he left his quarters; spending time strolling in the hydroponics bay, gazing at the endless systems of stars in astrometrics.

Janeway overrode the lock on the holodeck without hesitation, hoping only that whatever greeted her wouldn't violate his privacy too much. Beneath that, hoping it wouldn't violate her own.

As soon as the doors opened, the humidity and faint smell of chemicals found her. The indoor pool was large and was obviously housed in some kind of academic facility. It wasn't anything from the Academy; Janeway didn't recognize it. She knew that it was some other relic of Tom's past. Perhaps his high school.

Tom had given up competitive swimming at his father's insistence when he was sixteen. It took up too much time. It wasn't something that wouldn't further him in his preparation for the Academy. The fact that Tom had loved it, that swimming that was one of the few things that brought him peace after his father returned a changed man at the hands of the Cardassians, hadn't entered into the equation.

At the end of the pool, she could see Paris' steady strokes before he hit the far wall, pushing off with practiced ease. The program had been active for thirty minutes, and she had no doubt he had been swimming like this the entire time. This kind of activity was going to be hell on his body and would ultimately delay his recovery. But it was also low impact, and Janeway couldn't really bring herself to stop him.

She walked toward the pool, removing her right boot and then her left, followed by her socks. She didn't bother to roll her pants up before perching on the edge and dangling her legs in. The water was warmer than she expected; too warm for a competitive pool of this size. Tom must have raised the temperature as a precaution. She released a deep breath.

Even in this state, he could no longer bring himself to let go completely. He would no longer take selfish risks that would endanger his life at the expense of the ship.

When he pushed off the wall next to her, she had no doubt that he knew she was there. She was only a few centimeters out of his lane. Even if his eyes were closed, which they weren't, he would be able to feel the disturbance of her legs displacing water. But Tom continued on, his movements staying steady; his pace a swift one but not an all out rush. He was pacing himself, she knew. He was in this for the long haul.

She watched as he continued on for the next twenty minutes unchanged. And then as his movements became gradually slower, his turns more labored. Part of the time, she watched him. Part of the time, she allowed herself to look around the space.

A clear ceiling arched above them; a night's sky with Earth's twinkling stars barely in view through the arena's bright lights. A large electronic clock was on the far wall, raised bleachers behind her. There was also something strange about the program that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Eventually, she realized that it was that the space was deathly quiet. Tom hadn't activated any music.

The thought shook more than his refusal to acknowledge her; more than his desperate need to keep moving.

When his movements finally became too painful, he slowed, coming to stop at the wall beside her. His fingers grasped the edge of the pool, his body too tired to even tread water. He didn't look up at her, and she reclined back on her elbows, looking up at the stars.

"Did you do this from memory?"

She knew the answer the second she walked in, but they had to start somewhere. Anywhere.

He nodded, but still didn't look at her.

"Where?"

"A high school in Berkeley that regional competitions were always held at." His breath was slightly ragged, though slowly evening out. "I think I made the cut every year partly because I loved swimming there so much."

She looked at the familiar stars that were now so far away from them.

"It certainly is beautiful."

There was a long silence as each composed their thoughts. As he each allowed the other to summon courage.

"I'm sorry about the Doctor," Tom said, his voice now even. "I'll apologize to him tomorrow. But I understand if you need to note this in my file."

He seemed to find the tile that bordered the pool as fascinating as she found the stars.

"I don't think that will be necessary." Her voice carried casual dismissal. "I talked with Chakotay. I don't think what transpired was entirely your fault. But I appreciate the apology." She sighed. "So will the Doctor's ego."

Tom knew before she'd even begun speaking that this hadn't been the end of her conversation with Chakotay. He tried to find the will to be angry at the other man, but he couldn't. He knew, back in Sickbay, the Commander was too racked with guilt to rest.

He sighed, but didn't speak. He waited for her to say what she came to, to ask what she needed to.

"I won't order you to talk to someone, Tom."

Her voice betrayed the regret and frustration that she'd carried for the last five and half years. _Voyager_ didn't have a counselor, and sometimes it desperately needed one.

Sometimes she desperately needed one.

"But you can't deal with this alone. I understand if you don't want to talk to me about it."

She paused, sitting up from the position her elbows no longer found comfortable. She looked down at him, finding his eyes.

"But you need to talk to someone."

The ghost of a rueful smile appeared on his face, and he splashed at away a speck of holographic dirt that wasn't really there.

"I have been. Actually."

"Really?"

Her tone was surprised and hopeful. A little disappointed, too, that he hadn't confided in her.

He nodded, ignoring all of it.

"After I ended things with B'Elanna, I knew that it wouldn't be an easy transition." He squinted, the chemicals of the water stinging his eyes. "I created a holoprogram."

She looked at him questioningly, and he decided to continue on.

"Counselor Deanna Troi. From the _Enterprise_. I met her once, briefly. Just before I joined the Maquis. She seemed. . . nice. Not very Starfleet. There were a lot of records about her in the database, so it was also easy to program a holographic version."

The holographic Troi, he knew, wasn't perfect. She couldn't read emotions. She didn't have all of Troi's memories or personality traits. But she was acutely aware of body language, mannerisms. She was perceptive about people.

She was close enough.

"Has it been helpful?" She kicked slightly at the water as she asked. She didn't look at him.

"Yes." Tom looked around the pool, craning his head for a moment to look at the stars. "Our sessions have helped to remind that while my memories are real and concrete, the events of that timeline don't exist. Not really."

He shrugged, the motion of his shoulders constricted by his position. She glanced at him.

"Still, it's hard sometimes. Those things might not have actually happened, but it feels like they did. What happened to me, what I've become, that makes them real enough."

Janeway looked down at her legs, taking in the information. She recalled all of the times Tom had referred to people and things with the preface 'in that timeline'; the way he shied away from using the pronoun 'you' in reference to the alternate versions of her, as well as others. It was evidence of his therapy, she understood now. It was him consciously trying to anchor himself in the present.

In her conversations with him, she'd always gone and muddied the waters; using the pronouns he avoided, conflating alternate versions of people with their actual counterparts.

For the millionth time when it came to dealing with Tom, Janeway felt a flood of guilt.

"It's not your fault, you know." He pulled himself out of the water as he spoke, his movement slow and labored as he slid beside her on the edge. "You didn't know. I didn't tell you. There's no way you could have guessed what I needed."

She fought the urge to close her eyes. He was reassuring her again, and it felt downright awful.

"You always seem to guess what I need."

She couldn't bring herself to look at him just yet. But her tone failed to mask her guilt, her profound sense of inadequacy.

"But that's just it." He shook his head, drops of water falling on her uniform, her neck. "I don't have to guess."

She turned her face to look at him, her eyes trying to search his as he looked down at her dangling feet.

"She wasn't you, Kathryn. But she was close enough." His lips twisted into something between a frown and a smirk. "I don't have to guess," he repeated, meeting her gaze.

She was silent for a moment. When she began to speak again, her voice was even.

"Still, I let you down. I didn't see how hard this was for you."

She thought silently that she didn't want to see it. She didn't want to hear about her damaged ship, the death of her crew.

Tom's brow furrowed. Not an expression of doubt, but one of confusion.

"Should you have _wanted_ to hear about your friends and officers dying? About the desperation that pervaded your crew when your ship was besieged?" He shook his head again. "You're a human being, Kath. You didn't disappoint me because you have feelings. You didn't let me down because you have fears just like the rest of us."

She wasn't convinced and her face said as much.

"Would you tell me if I had let you down?"

His face twisted in thought, his eyes open and honest as he considered her question. He looked back at her without a trace of humor or insincerity.

"I honestly don't know. But I promise, the first time you actually let me down, I'll get back to you with an answer."

She grasped his hand and squeezed, her eyes blinking away tears as she looked out at the pool in front of them.

They sat in silence for sometime before she moved to stand up first. He followed suit, slowly, and her eyes took in his halted movements. He was going to be in real pain tomorrow. He was going to lectured by the Doctor, and if the Doctor found out the Captain knew about Paris' activities, she was going to be lectured, too.

They both knew this last part wouldn't happen. He would never admit to her being there. It wouldn't make it any easier on him, even if he did.

Neither bothered to dry off, and he ended the program before he tugged on a shirt. They walked slowly down the corridor to the turbolift, and when she called for her deck, he realized by the look she gave him that he was not supposed to call for his.

He complied willingly. He didn't really want to be alone at the moment.

By the time she keyed in the code to her door, Kathryn realized Tom was shivering, though only slightly.

He sat on her couch, just to the left of the lump in the center cushion, and she walked to the replicator, returning with two glasses of warm brandy. He took it without complaint, and she went into her bedroom, coming out with a quilt in her arms. By the time she settled on the couch, his brandy was gone and so was half of hers. He wrapped the blanket she gave him around himself and she reached for the half-empty glass.

"How did Chakotay die in that timeline?" Kathryn asked, after several songs had played. Tom had called for music as he'd sat down on the couch.

He didn't look too phased by the question. He had expected that they were going to have this conversation back in the holodeck. Despite this preparation, he struggled to answer her.

"On the bridge." He retreated further under the blanket, fighting to quiet his mind as the dark images flashed before his eyes. "He was helping Ayala at Tactical during one of the attacks."

The statement was a marker to the fact they'd already lost Tuvok. Ayala was good, but he was no match for the Vulcan, especially in a dog fate.

Kathryn took in the full weight of his words.

"The console in front of him exploded, and he was hit in the chest. We'd lost half of the ship's systems because of enemy fire, including the ability to perform site-to-site transports."

Tom's eyes clouded, and Kathryn knew that he wasn't sitting next to her anymore. He was sitting on the bridge of the alternate _Voyager_, watching Chakotay's chest being ripped open by the surge of energy.

"You worked on him?"

She didn't have to ask. Tom was the highest medical officer after the Doctor. He'd worked on many officers on the bridge, even when they had the ability to transport the injured to Sickbay.

He nodded.

"I did what I could. But his wounds needed the surgical bay. I couldn't repair the damage fast enough." His voice broke off for a second, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "He died in my arms. And the Captain watched. She watched as I failed to save him."

Kathryn closed her own eyes at Tom's words. She could imagine her face, her eyes pleading despite her best efforts to hide her feelings. And then desolation that would appear in them when Chakotay was gone.

And Tom had seen it all.

"It was hard after that. The attacks became more frequent for a while. I struggled to take on his responsibilities, to try to replace a man I knew was irreplaceable."

Tom wasn't able to keep the pain from his voice, was past the point of being able to hide that he'd felt like he was in a losing race with a ghost.

"I would come in for meetings with her sometimes, and I could tell that she was having a hard time with it. Harder even than the rest of us. She put up a good enough front the first few weeks. But after that. . . I would come into her ready room or then her quarters, and her eyes and nose would be red from crying."

He stopped, and she waited, her voice transformed with interest and thinly-veiled pain.

"At one point, she gave up even the pretense of eating and we argued about it. I told her that this wasn't what he would have wanted. She replied that I no business telling her anything about what he would have wanted. . . Then she started crying. And so did I."

Tom didn't tell her that this was the last time he cried on the alternate _Voyager_. That after that, he thought he didn't have the luxury. Or perhaps he just didn't have the tears left. He didn't sob at night in his quarters, when the stress and the strain of their situation got to be too much. He stood motionless when they announced the passing of other members of the crew. Even when Janeway died, he stood silently next to the coffin as Neelix spoke. He held B'Elanna's hand as she cried harder than she did after Harry. Harder than she did after Chakotay. And later, in the mess hall, he held Seven, her trim frame wracked with sobs that seemed to scare her; his face finding the characteristic stoicism Seven groped for, but couldn't locate.

Through it all, he didn't shed a single tear for the woman they'd laid to rest. He thought maybe he didn't have it in him to mourn her death. To mourn what she had become.

Though he didn't put any of this into words, other memories of that period flew out in front of him, thoughts now tumbling from his mouth fluidly.

"But that wasn't the worst day. That came five months after Chakotay. Samantha Wildman died and we had to tell Naomi. Neelix wanted to do it. But the Captain wouldn't let him. She thought it was part of her job. I insisted on at least coming with her, being there to support her." He paused. "Standing in the turbolift, she tried to find a middle ground between the distance she maintained as a commanding officer and the desperation she felt underneath."

His eyes, which had been transfixed on the wall in front of him, suddenly became intense, his face turning to look at Kathryn's as she listened to him.

"It was the worst silence of my life. And I held her hand all the way down, until the doors opened." He looked at her meaningfully. "And she let me."

When he came back from the memory, he realized that Kathryn was watching him with patient eyes. He knew instantly that she had easily read the emotions that were likely broadcast on his face. He waited for her inevitable questions.

"How did she die?"

Her voice didn't betray the fear or anxiety she felt. She made sure to use the pronoun 'she' instead of 'I'. He knew without reflection that she meant the alternate Janeway rather than Ensign Wildman.

"She went to work on the dilithium matrix. It had been damaged and B'Elanna hadn't quite repaired it. It was the middle of the night, the area of engineering she was in was deserted. I suspect that was why she went there; she couldn't sleep."

"There was an accident?"

The evenness of her voice was unbearable to him. More unbearable than the questions she was asking. He closed his eyes to block out her neutral expression.

"Her injuries wouldn't have been all that serious. But no one knew she was there. No one was there to get her to Sickbay when she fell unconscious." He continued, exhaling heavily, "Joe Carey found her the next morning. And the part of me that was capable of feeling anything was grateful that it was him rather than B'Elanna."

His words hadn't been filtered. H didn't think to be embarrassed. He couldn't relive this and be conscious of her feelings at the same time.

Through the fog of memories, he felt Kathryn grasping his hand. He knew that she was remembering the change to protocol B'Elanna had submitted a week after Tom's encounter with the anomaly. It mandated all work be done with another officer aware of the location.

Janeway had approved it easily, but had thought in passing that it was unlike her Chief Engineer to be concerned about such things.

"I didn't know. You never let on." Her voice was quiet. A whisper.

He didn't voice the bitter retort that it wasn't exactly good dinner conversation, telling a friend that in another timeline, she died a senseless death. That even before that, she'd died an internal one, becoming the shell of a person she was. Instead, he willed it way, squeezing her hand back. He reclined his head on the couch cushion behind him.

"I think I thought it was easier on you if I didn't tell you."

He looked up at her and was relieved to see that her face wasn't awash with pain. Only concern.

"Maybe it was easier on me, too."

She didn't respond immediately, and he concentrated on the warmth and comfort of the blanket and Kathryn's presence.

"I can't imagine what it was like for you down on the planet. What you felt when you thought Chakotay was going to die."

He forced himself to maintain eye contact with her when she began to speak. Made himself swallow the bile that invaded his throat as he remembered his own panic.

"But you can't possibly think I'd rather lose you than him." She paused, willing him to believe her. "You can't possibly think that, in measuring the two of you as friends, I would have easily traded you away."

His eyes narrowed at her words. Months ago, she would have mistaken it for anger. But now she knew that it was doubt.

Painful, agonizing doubt.

After a moment, he cocked his head to the side. A concession. An acknowledgment.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and slumped down in the couch beside him, reclining her head towards his. She held onto his hand, and they sat there listening to the music play on as each of them willed away the dark of images of lived or imagined deaths.

"Do you still miss her?" she asked, not moving her head to look at him.

It was a question she shouldn't voice, but one he knew she also couldn't contain. He didn't really mind.

"No, not anymore."

The ease of his response surprised her. It surprised him, too.

"In the beginning, I did. Not so much her, specifically, but the closeness we'd acquired. The loosening of boundaries in the face of everything we'd been through." He lifted his head slightly, gazing at her with a soft expression. "But this is so much better. Like I somehow got to skip ahead in line. Like I got in without having to pay the price of admission."

He winked at her, and despite the darkness of their conversation, she smiled.

Tom always did this. He always managed to make her smile in moments when she thought it impossible.

She slid further down on the couch, and he pulled his legs up, tucking them under his body. She realized after a few minutes that he was staring at her.

"You do know that she and I were only friends, right? That we weren't anything more?"

Her mouth flew open but she didn't speak. The question caught her completely off-guard. Which wasn't too say that she hadn't considered the possibility he was raising.

The ease with which he spoke of this other woman, the affection that dripped from him early on after the anomaly, it had stirred worries deep within her. Everything Tom said about their friendship, about their working relationship, explained it acceptably. Still, she couldn't help but wonder, though she'd never ask. She couldn't.

If the answer was what she feared, the resulting awkwardness would destroy their friendship. She would go back to avoiding him, and he would go back to pretending not to notice. The silence would strain all the way home.

"It would be natural for you question it. But there was nothing like that between us."

His voice was patient; it made her feel less horrible for having such thoughts.

"I did love her, but in the way I love Harry or the way I now love B'Elanna." He smiled softly. "The way I love you."

She found his hand again, her arm invading his blanket. He grasped it fiercely, and she angled her face to look at him.

"I worried sometimes that you looked at me and saw a lost love."

It was an admission she didn't ever think she'd make out loud. A silent fear that she'd tried desperately to bury in her mind.

"Well, she wasn't a lost love." He stopped, smiling again at her. "And when I look at you, I don't see anyone but you."

She returned his smile, both of them slipping back into silence as they enjoyed the warmth of the blanket and each other's company.

Sometime later, she looked over and realized he was asleep. His body was completely exhausted. The rest of him, too. She watched him serenely, sliding a throw pillow behind his head. She pulled the rest of the blanket over him, kissing his forehead lightly as she moved off the couch.

In the morning, Tom would wake up with a familiar kink in his back.

. . . . .

Activating Tom's program, Janeway felt uneasy. She hadn't told him she was going to use it, exactly. But she asked about it the other day. He'd informed her, casually, that he'd given it a discrete name, but that there was no authorization lock. Privacy protections were written into the program itself.

As Janeway moved into the dim light of the room, she took in the feel of her surroundings. The furniture was Starfleet issue, yet the space felt warm. More personal than the average office. Beneath her feet, she felt the subtle hum of a ship that was slightly different than _Voyager_'s. She slowly lowered herself into the seat, allowing herself to look at the woman across from her for the first time.

Troi's face was attractive, framed by waves of dark hair. She sat gracefully, one leg crossed over the other. The depth in her dark eyes was reassuring, as well as off-putting. It would be easy to forget that the woman in front of her was just a hologram.

"Captain Janeway," the Counselor intoned warmly.

She was programmed to recognize _Voyager_'s crew, as well as to know everything that was officially noted in their files. She was also programmed to have a sense of time and an awareness of the ship's events. She would file away the additional information provided by her patients as an addendum, using it in her future sessions. But she wouldn't violate confidentiality, or even acknowledge that another officer had visited her unless given express consent. If anyone attempted to bypass these subroutines, it would trigger the erasure of the program and all of its contents.

"I'm happy to see you."

Janeway struggled to get comfortable in her chair, eying the woman in front of her with a mix of discomfort and reluctance. The Counselor observed all of it, but said nothing.

"Call me Kathryn."

The Counselor smiled, nodding slightly in acknowledgment of Janeway's request.

"And I suspect you aren't all that surprised to see me. I'm sure Tom was hoping I would come visit you."

The smile on Troi's face morphed into a knowing expression, a subtle indication in the affirmative.

"Why would you say that?"

Janeway noted the dodge, as well as the redirect.

"I know he thinks I could use an objective ear."

"Is there such thing as an objective ear? Can anyone really be free of bias?" Troi's voice conveyed a philosophical question rather than a challenge.

Janeway smiled, liking the woman already.

"No. I guess not. But you're. . . farther removed from things than my crew. I can tell you things that I wouldn't tell anyone else on board. My decisions don't affect you."

As a hologram, nothing affected Troi. But this thought didn't occur to the Counselor or, at the moment, to Janeway.

"No, they don't. I'm just hear to listen. And to help." The Counselor smiled again, and Janeway felt her body relaxing into her chair. "So, Kathryn. Where would you like to start?"

Closing her eyes, Janeway began to speak.


	4. Wordless

Chapter 4: Wordless

Standing in the turbolift, Janeway's shoulders slumped. She'd been on duty for fourteen hours straight, and had only left the bridge because Chakotay's frown had deepened into a scowl. They weren't saying much to each other these days. Not since the Equinox. But his look told her that he'd break his silence to scold her if she didn't leave soon. She took the hint, not wanting their first long exchange in weeks to be an argument.

She'd announced that she was going to go to the mess hall and grab some dinner, but once she'd reached it, she was deterred by the amount of people there. The whole room buzzed with chatter.

Part of it, she knew, was people talking about their latest dashed hope of returning to the Alpha Quadrant, as well as the comfort that the new hyper-subspace messages from home were providing. Normally, the latter would comfort her. But something about it today made her recoil.

Janeway backed out of the mess hall, seemingly undetected. She'd even made it a few meters down the corridor when she heard Tuvok's voice ring out behind her.

"Have you decided you no longer desire food, Captain?"

Something about Tuvok's voice always managed to sound warm when he asked her things like this.

She turned around, her face looking as though she'd been caught at something. They both knew her leaving had nothing to do with whether or not she felt hungry. He looked at her with an air of concern. At least, his own Vulcan version of concern.

"I think I decided that I'm not in the mood for crowds this evening."

She didn't bother to hide the hesitation in her voice. Tuvok would be able to read her like a book, no matter what she did. It was as bad as talking to Tom sometimes.

She looked away from him, but his gaze didn't waver.

"I've often found it odd, Captain, that one may be in a room with many other individuals, and still feel alone." Tuvok's voice grew lower as he said this, his head tilting slightly to the right.

Janeway closed her eyes briefly. The Vulcan had hit the nail exactly on the head. She felt alone these days. Partly, it was because of this rift with Chakotay. But more profoundly, it was the failure, yet again, to get her crew home. This particular disappointment had become a recurrent theme in her life on _Voyager_, and every time it manifested it seemed to settle into her bones a little deeper. Being around her crew often made it worse rather than better. She looked at them and felt all the more guilty.

When she didn't respond, Tuvok paused for a moment. She knew that he wanted to offer to dine with her, but he was due on duty in thirty minutes.

"I saw Lieutenant Paris earlier in Sickbay when he performed my scheduled physical."

She looked at him, interested by the change in subject.

"He remarked that he has not spent time with you in two weeks." His head titled farther to the right. "He also informed me that he was looking forward to spending the evening in his quarters. I believe he mentioned 'a night of pizza and a beer'."

Janeway smiled at Tuvok's attempt to shoo her along to the company of her helmsman. Tom had been as exhausted as the rest of the senior staff lately. She also hadn't made time to talk with him since his father had suddenly appeared on Voyager's viewscreen, announcing that he was proud of his son and missed him. They'd shared a long look later on during that shift- a look of comfort and hope. But after that, the days had passed by quickly, their work piling up as fast as they managed to get it done.

"Now that you mention it, Tuvok, I am hungry. And pizza sounds delightful."

She regarded her old friend with a knowing smile as she leaned against the wall of the corridor. Tuvok, in turn, nodded before turning to walk away.

"Enjoy your evening, Captain."

"You, too, my friend."

. . . . .

When she entered Tom's quarters, he looked surprised to see her but happy nonetheless.

"I was told by Tuvok that I needed to eat pizza and drink beer with you," she remarked, sitting down on the couch.

"What a lovely suggestion for him to make." He smiling slightly. "But I'm rather sad that it took him ordering you for you to be here."

"No one orders me," she said, dry humor in her voice.

His eyebrows shot up, and she ignored it. They both knew that Doctor gave her orders all the time, that Tuvok and Chakotay came dangerously close with some frequency. But more than anything, Tom gave her orders. He just did it in a way that always managed to sound like he was making a request.

"Besides, I wanted to come here. . . It just took talking to Tuvok to realize that I missed you."

Paris' face lit up at this statement. He stood up from the couch, gesturing with his arm.

"Well, in that case, pizza and beer all around."

Janeway smiled, opening her mouth to offer her rations. But before she could, Tom waved her off. He never really ate replicated food anymore. But when he did, he didn't worry about splurging. Beer, grilled cheese sandwiches, pizza. These were things he rarely indulged in now, but when he did, did so with gusto.

He returned to the couch, setting down a pizza in front of them on the coffee table, as well as several bottles of beers. The bottles were of two different varieties and before she could reach for either, he grabbed one and handed it to her.

She took it without question. Tom knew her tastes in food and drink as well as anyone.

"Quite the selection," she said, looking at the pizza as she drank her beer.

The quadrants of the pie were neatly divided with different toppings, and she tried to decide what to eat first. The quadrant with pepperoni alone she would leave untouched, however, as this was Tom's favorite. Making her selection, she sighed heavily.

Tom eyed her.

"You alright, Kath?"

She sat still, not eating her pizza and not looking at him either.

"I put off an appointment with Counselor Troi today. I just didn't have the energy." She shook her head. "But now I think that was a mistake."

Silently, Tom agreed. First, because it was obvious she needed the counsel. Second, because when she finally activated the program, the holographic Troi would chide her, however kindly, for avoiding their session. Tom had received several of these lectures over the last year.

He could only imagine how many Janeway had received. He voiced none of these thoughts, however, choosing instead to pop a piece of pepperoni into his mouth.

"Don't pretend that you didn't know I was seeing her," Janeway remarked, a bit harshly, when he failed to reply.

He looked at her patiently. It was same look he always gave her when she acted this way. It never failed to make her immediately feel guilty.

Her grey eyes softened and she ducked her head, avoiding his gaze.

"I didn't know," he replied. "I just. . . hoped." His gaze fell from her face to his lap, and he shrugged. "We could all use an ear. Especially lately."

He didn't need to specify the events that 'lately' entailed. She nodded in agreement, both of them falling into a comfortable silence.

When they were each a slice and a bottle in, Tom's door chimed. Janeway wondered if it was Harry, but realized as soon as she thought it that the Ensign was still on duty for another twenty minutes. And if it was B'Elanna, the chime wouldn't have rang at all; the Klingon had a habit of walking straight in.

It was something Janeway found amazing when she'd first witnessed it six months earlier. She and Tom had been in the middle of a game of darts when the engineer, without warning, strode into Tom's quarters. The younger woman didn't seem at all surprised to find her Captain there, but looked genuinely put off when Tom's dart almost struck her. As if he should have somehow anticipated her presence and been more careful.

"I never changed my codes after we broke up," Tom had explained, after B'Elanna was gone.

"And you don't mind that she just walks in?"

"Why would I?" he'd shrugged, going back to the game without hesitation.

At the time, she'd found it strange, the lack of personal boundaries between Tom and B'Elanna. But now she marveled at the engineer; the way she always walked into Tom's quarters as though she belonged. As though she didn't entertain the doubt for a second that her presence could be unwanted, that Tom would ever wish to be without her.

Janeway envied her.

"Come," Janeway called when she realized Tom's mouth was too full of pizza to say anything.

Beside her, Tom laughed, now having even more difficulty getting the pizza down.

When Chakotay walked in, his expression already looked cautious. He'd stopped by on a lark because Paris had invited him earlier. But now, hearing Kathryn's voice bid him entry to Tom's quarters, he though it was an ill-chosen move. He couldn't not enter at that point, and so instead walked in as though facing a Cardassian firing squad.

When he entered, the Captain's face fell perceptibly, though only for a moment. Then she smiled at him, straightening up noticeably on the couch. Paris fought the urge to role his eyes, motioning for the Commander to come in.

"Hiya," Tom greeted when he finally swallowed his mouthful of pizza. "Pull up a seat and have some food."

Chakotay didn't move at all, his face vacillating between doubt and a blank stare.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt," he replied, with an ease that all three of them knew he didn't feel.

Janeway rose, looking at Paris apologetically.

"No, it was me that was interrupting, Chakotay. I just stopped by to bend Tom's ear for a moment."

The half-eaten piece of pizza she had in her hand belied her statement, but she didn't care. They all knew exactly what was going.

"I'll go," she continued. "Leave you two to eat dinner."

Looking at both of them, Paris gave in to the urge to roll his eyes, setting down his beer carefully on the coffee table.

"Both of you, stay. Sit down," he said, his voice softening when Janeway shot him a brief glare. "Please."

Slowly, Janeway sunk back down on the couch. Chakotay moved to the chair near Paris, sitting down gingerly as though it may be booby-trapped or else too fragile to support his weight. Paris looked patiently in front of him, ignoring their discomfort. He handed Chakotay a beer, plucking a bottle that was of the same kind he himself was drinking. Chakotay smelled it, eyeing Paris with new interest.

"Is this the same one you replicated last month?"

Tom nodded, taking another bite of his pizza as Chakotay took a small drink of the stout that finished with a delightful bitterness.

Janeway said nothing, drinking her ale, as Chakotay leaned forward in his chair and selected a piece of pizza covered with vegetables. After finishing the slice, he stood up, placing his half empty bottle on the table. Janeway worried that he was going to leave again and inwardly cringed, anticipating Tom's protests. But instead Chakotay walked to Tom's computer panels, looking over the current music selection. He'd suspected when he entered that Tom had set the music to play random entries from his archive.

He disengaged the randomization algorithm, calling up several selections to play once the current song ended.

Janeway had found it interesting to learn what kind of music each of her staff favored when sifting through Tom's archive. Harry tended not to care at all about lyrics, preferring anything that had a noticeable instrumental presence. B'Elanna surprisingly favored softer music; songs that heralded triumph in the face of tragedies, the themes of regret and self-reflection. Chakotay, too, took to this kind of music, though he preferred songs with a decidedly political undertone. 'Protest music' Tom had called it once, referring to Chakotay's knack for selecting songs from Earth's 1960's and 70's.

Tonight, however, Chakotay stayed away from this genre, his mood requiring lighter musical themes. Sitting back down in his chair, he picked up his bottle again and took a long pull.

"Long month," he murmured, shaking his head slightly and squinting his eyes. His face was contemplative and he looked at nothing in particular.

"They're all long lately," Janeway commented, her voice sounding distracted as she, too, regarding nothing. "I swear they weren't this long when we were first out here."

Sighing, Chakotay looked at her. His face softened as he took in her slumped shoulders, the way her head was angled slightly back, as though she was too tired to support it.

He smiled at her. A genuine smile of comfort and support; friendship and forgiveness. J

aneway briefly closed her eyes, feeling a flood of relief as her XO gazed at her fondly. She smiled back at him, and then winked at him over her beer bottle.

Tom remained quiet, a small grin appearing on his face. He hid his mouth behind his beer bottle before Kathryn could shoot him a glare or Chakotay's eyes could narrow at him.

"We should get the dartboard out," Janeway declared, after a moment.

They'd retired the dartboard from the wall several months earlier, neither Paris nor Janeway particularly desiring to play anymore. They both preferred pool, and Tom had remarked finally that he thought that the hobby was a bit morbid given that the only reason he'd engaged in it on the alternate _Voyager_ was because pool was no longer an option. Kathryn agreed, though with a look of suspicion that conveyed her concern that he had been thinking this long before he voiced it out loud. They still dragged the board out every once in awhile, but only when neither felt like doing anything else.

"You two can play," Chakotay said smiling, "I'll keep score."

"Do you not know how to play?" Janeway looked at Chakotay curiously before continuing. "Tom can teach you. He's an excellent instructor."

Chakotay's smile became a rueful one, waiting for the comment from Paris that had to be coming.

"I can only do so much," Tom said with seriousness, "at least with such a bleak limitation of natural talent."

Chakotay frowned slightly before beginning to chuckle. Kathryn smiled, now understanding Chakotay's hesitation. The Commander's eyes twinkled as he leaned forward in his chair, addressing Janeway's questioning face.

"Let's just say B'Elanna wasn't too thrilled when Tom filled out the request to have seventeen different holes in his wall repaired."

Janeway laughed, her head falling back with a thud against the couch cushion.

"Seventeen?" she asked, her face incredulous. "You must be exaggerating."

"Nope," Tom chimed before looking at Chakotay pointedly. "By the way, B'Elanna and I had our weekly spar the day immediately after that."

Chakotay's face twisted in surprise, the sip of beer he'd just taken threatening to burst out of his mouth.

"I never properly thanked you for the thrashing I received."

"As if she could beat you anymore than she normally does," the Commander mocked, wiping beer from his pant leg.

Kathryn chuckled. She enjoyed these exchanges between Tom and Chakotay almost as much as she enjoyed bantering with Tom herself.

"Say what you want about my boxing, Chakotay. But at least I can throw a dart straight. And climb a mountain." Tom looked at him pointedly again. "Oh, and fly a damn shuttle without destroying it."

At this last jab, Kathryn doubled over, struggling to breathe through her laughter.

"You see this," Chakotay said to Tom, gesturing to Janeway with his hand. "Every time, she sides against me. _Every_ _time."_

Given their recent history, the comment could have caused offense. Janeway could have sobered, her laughter quickly subsiding as Paris regarded Chakotay with a sad expression and the XO looked apologetically at both of them, abruptly uncomfortable at his unfortunate choice of words. But none of this happened, and Kathryn continued to laugh hysterically as her first officer looked at her with mock anger and her helmsman chuckled, shaking his head.

"It's like she doesn't care at all for my feelings," Chakotay continued, but despite his best efforts to keep up the act, succumbed, too, to laughter, spilling beer again on his pants.

When B'Elanna strode in, looking deadly serious, they all stilled.

The engineer crossed her arms, obviously curious as to what, exactly, she'd just walked in on. Things, she knew, had been tense between the command team lately, though no one, not even Tom, commented on it. B'Elanna had been privately concerned, but held onto hope that things would right themselves eventually.

After all, there had been a noticeable shift in the senior staff's relationship since Tom's experience on the alternate _Voyager_. Nothing especially dramatic that was ever articulated. They were all just a bit closer, more grateful for what they had. Seven of Nine was less petulant with B'Elanna. B'Elanna tried to find more patience for the Doctor. Harry stopped sending moody glances at Tuvok, who in turn, had softened a bit in his remonstrations of Janeway.

And everyone was kinder to Neelix.

B'Elanna looked at them now with a look of contemplation; silent thoughts of hope and doubt surging forward in her mind.

Her seriousness set Tom's laughter off again, his commanding officers soon following suit.

Torres' quizzical expression shifted into a puzzled smile.

"Should I even ask?" B'Elanna said, looking at Tom and then Chakotay.

"We were just wondering what, if anything, the good Commander is good at. Besides, of course, his duties as First Officer."

Janeway's voice was serious as she spoke, but her grey eyes twinkled with mischief.

B'Elanna's face seemed to twist in thought, her arms crossing in front of her.

"Well, he can make a decent pancake," the engineer deadpanned.

Tom snorted and Janeway laughed again, watching as Chakotay feigned injury.

"Eight years with you, Torres. And all you have to say on my behalf is that I can passably cook your favorite breakfast." He wagged a finger at her. "I'm not even going to offer you any pizza now."

B'Elanna chuckled, patting her old friend on the shoulder.

"Good thing for me these aren't your quarters. Or your pizza."

B'Elanna walked past Chakotay's chair and Janeway moved over to make room for the engineer on the couch, though B'Elanna failed to notice. Instead, she perched on the arm of the couch closest to Tom. Angling her body toward the coffee table, her legs ended up flush with the pilot's. Neither seemed to care about the invasion of personal space.

Bending forward, B'Elanna grabbed a piece of pepperoni pizza, ignoring Tom's arched eyebrow as she folded it over and took her first bite.

Chakotay watched Paris and Torres with a soft expression. He often wondered what would have happened between the two of them if hadn't been for Tom's encounter with anomaly. Would they have stayed together? Would they have gotten married? Would they have had a child with B'Elanna's dark hair and Tom's blue eyes? Looking at them this way, the close friendship they had come to enjoy, Chakotay didn't think they were necessarily worse off. But he couldn't stop himself from thinking about what might have been either. The images of their blue-eyed children joined the thoughts of those with grey eyes and olive skin who lived on a planet now far away; the prodigies of a future that would not be, constant companions who followed him on their journey home.

His train of thought was interrupted when he heard B'Elanna's voice asking him a question.

"Your music choice, Chakotay?"

The words took a moment to find him and he looked at B'Elanna's amused expression. A song was playing that spoke of a spirit in the sky; the singer's belief that he would go to that place whenever he died. It was one of Chakotay's favorites, though he couldn't remember ever selecting it in front of B'Elanna.

"How'd you guess?" He regarded her over his bottle of beer, an innocent expression on his face.

B'Elanna threw him a knowing smile before taking a sip from Tom's beer bottle. Neither Janeway nor Paris were the spiritual type, though Chakotay supposed they each had their days. Out here, it was impossible not to want to believe in something greater, at least occasionally.

"Did you stop by for anything specific?" Tom asked after a moment, looking at B'Elanna with curiosity. She often popped in just to hello. But the way she'd strode in earlier, he knew she was on a mission.

B'Elanna handed Tom's beer bottle back, rubbing her face with her other hand.

"It's just. . . Vorick and Henderson again."

"Did they go at it again today?" the pilot asked, with a mix of sympathy and amusement.

B'Elanna straightened up, looking at Chakotay and then Janeway. Both the Commander and the Captain understood. She'd come her to vent to Tom, not to put anyone on report. Chakotay waved her on and Janeway smiled patiently.

"As long as they're not planning a mutiny, B'Elanna, I don't think the Commander and I really care."

B'Elanna perceptibly relaxed at Janeway's joke, her face again awash with frustration as she looked back at Paris.

"I had them work together on those change to the power relays. I came back an hour later to find Joe breaking up another one of their arguments." B'Elanna sighed, closing her eyes. "I think Vorick started this one. But either way, I just don't know what to do about them."

Tom patted B'Elanna's leg. He knew from first-hand experience that Vorick could be surprisingly petulant for a Vulcan. And John Henderson wasn't exactly someone who minced words.

Janeway and Chakotay stayed quiet. They both had thoughts on the matter, but they each knew it wasn't their counsel she had come to ask for.

"Well, if memory serves," Tom said, leaning back on the couch. "Vorick's research at the Academy concentrated on warp core theory. And John was more a theory guy himself, even when he was with Maquis."

B'Elanna crossed her arms, waiting for Tom to go on.

"So maybe the next time we have to come up with the next set of modifications to the engines, we throw them in a room together."

It was a given that such a time would come. _Voyager_ had gone without any complete overhauls for six years. The term 'modification' was a euphemism they used for for getting jerry-rigged alien components to work with what was left of the Starfleet standard issue.

"Tom, weren't you listening?" B'Elanna's voice grew angry, though it was clear she wasn't really upset with Paris. "I had them work together today. And it ended in disaster."

"Right," Paris replied patiently. "But you had them working on rudimentary repairs."

B'Elanna's face flashed with understanding before she shut her eyes tightly. Chakotay and Janeway looked on with sympathy as Tom put his hand on her knee.

"Kahless." Her body slumped on her perch. "I took two theory guys who already didn't like each other, and I threw them in a room together to do manual labor."

"It's not your fault, B'Elanna," Tom said, feeling her leg tense with the self-reproach that was welling within her.

"Of course, it is," she shot back. "I didn't see it. I just looked on with surprise when it exploded in my face."

Tom's face become stern, his voice more commanding than patient.

"B'Elanna, at the end of the day, you're about the work. And all the personal stuff fails to matter to you. That isn't a bad way to be." He shrugged, his voice softening. "It's just good to remember that not everyone is built the way you are."

B'Elanna looked back at him, the frustration slowly falling away from her dark features.

"They're not going to want to work together again. Even if I put them on something they're both more inclined toward." Her voice was softer, laced with regret.

"Well, they will."

She looked at him dubiously and he gave her a pointed stare as he continued.

"You're their CO. You'll order them and they'll do what they're told. Whether they like it or not."

The words Paris used here were what Torres would have once called 'Starfleet issued bullshit'. And despite all of Tom's background- his career prior to Caldik Prime, his lineage- B'Elanna had never heard him slip into this kind of tone before his encounter with the anomaly.

It reminded her of Janeway, and B'Elanna could never quite decide how she felt about it.

Looking at him, the engineer nodded her head.

"You know what we need," Chakotay said, standing.

Tom looked at him expectantly.

"More beer."

As Chakotay moved to the replicator, Janeway looked to Paris.

"Harry's getting off duty soon. You should invite him to join us."

Tom eyed her warily before smiling slightly.

"Or better yet, you should."

She paused, considering Tom's suggestion. It was entirely possible Harry would demure from joining them if Tom extended the invitation. But he wouldn't decline his Captain. No matter how much he wanted to.

Looking resolved, Janeway tapped her comm badge.

"Janeway to Kim."

"Kim here, Captain."

"Are you about going off duty, Ensign?"

"Yes, Captain. Seven and I were just finishing up in Astrometrics." Harry paused. "If there's something you need me to do, ma'am, I can easily to return to the bridge."

Tom smirked, mouthing something to B'Elanna. Janeway kicked at his foot with her own in warning.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Kim." She smiled at Chakotay. "We actually require your presence in Lieutenant Paris' quarters."

"Ma'am?"

"You heard her, Harry," Tom chimed, "and tell Seven if she comes willingly, we won't force her to eat or drink anything that doesn't hold nutritional value."

Through the comm line, they heard what was obviously a muffled sigh. It was Harry, but everyone knew that Seven, probably only a meter away from Kim, was doing the same thing.

"We'll be there in ten minutes, Captain. Kim out."

Harry's voice sounded resigned, as if he had just agreed to spend an hour talking to the Doctor about his latest operatic endeavors. Tom's smirk grew wider.

"You should probably move over here, Chakotay," B'Elanna said, nodding to the couch. "If we make Harry sit next to the Captain, he's probably going to sit at attention the whole time."

Janeway smiled, her affection for the young man evident.

"I do enjoy that no one fears me quite like Harry Kim." She shook her head and then looked at Tom. "We should invite Neelix, too. And the Doctor."

"You go ahead and invite Neelix," Tom commented with a sober expression. "But let the rest of us get a few more beers down before we invite the Doc."

Chakotay laughed, and Janeway smacked Tom's arm with force. He winced, but said nothing.

Waiting for Harry and Seven to join them, they fell into a cheerful silence.

Kathryn watched as B'Elanna continued to eat Tom's pepperoni pizza, Tom's subtle chagrin going ignored by the younger woman. She looked at Chakotay fondly as he laughed at them, her own chest expanding with the relief that they were now past their rocky period.

Janeway realized that when they were finally home, she would miss all of this. She would be grateful and relieved for their journey to be over, of course. But she knew with conviction that after _Voyager_ was docked and her crew safely home, she would remember these moments. And she would miss them with an aching pain that words would never quite describe.

. . . . . .

When Janeway felt herself materialize on the transporter pad, she looked around expectantly but didn't see Tom.

"Admiral," a familiar voice said. "It's good to see you again."

Janeway was out of uniform, but she was accustomed to people referring to her only by her rank.

"Counselor," Janeway greeted. "It's good to see you, too."

Troi's familiar smile beamed at her, falling only when she felt the prickle of Janeway's disappointment.

"I'm sorry Tom's not here to greet you. He and Will are. . . occupied."

Janeway brushed away the tide of embarrassment that found her when she realized Troi had, of course, sensed her dejection. It was something she would never quite get used to about the actual Deanna Troi. She was just grateful Tom had come clean with the Counselor about his holoprogram when he was first assigned to the _Titan_.

Janeway blushed, realizing that Troi had felt that, too. Troi's smile widened.

"Are they barricaded in Captain Riker's ready room?" Janeway asked, following Troi out of the transporter room. She suspected she already knew the answer given the frustration evident in Troi's voice.

"No," Deanna drawled with deepening frustration. "Tom and my husband are playing parrises squares."

She swung her thick dark hair over her shoulder. A sign of annoyance, Janeway had learned.

"The match has been going on for two hours."

"_Two hours_?" Janeway exclaimed as they rounded a corner.

"Their team has been tied with Chief Patterson's for the last thirty minutes."

Lara Patterson was the _Titan_'s Chief Engineer and, Janeway had learned from Tom, a cutthroat parrises player. There's no way Riker would let their team forfeit to Patterson. Not that Tom would be so inclined either.

"I'm sure Will practically ordered him to stay," Deanna said, a rueful expression on her face.

"Oh, I'm sure Will didn't have to order him," Janeway muttered, crossing her arms as she moved to stand beside Troi in the turbolift.

"Would you care to go to your guest quarters now? Settle in while you wait for the boys to finish their game?"

Janeway didn't respond, but concentrated instead on her annoyance that her longtime friend had failed to meet her. Deanna smirked.

"Computer," Troi called, looking at Janeway with understanding. "Deck eight."

As they sped toward the holodecks, Troi felt Janeway's annoyance begin to give way to amusement.

"Sometimes," Troi began in a conspiratorial whisper. "I desperately wish that Starfleet had assigned Will a First Officer who didn't match him in- "

"Childishness?"

Troi laughed at Janeway's choice of words. The Counselor had come to adore Tom in the two years he'd been with the _Titan_. And, in many ways, Tom's understanding of people and compassion went well beyond his years. Still, once Tom and her husband were together, at least off duty, a different side of him came out.

"It's like the two of them revert to their teenage years when left to their own devices together," Troi remarked, affection and annoyance vying for prominence in her voice.

"Tom and my First Officer aboard _Voyager_ had a similar relationship." Janeway paused. "I somehow found it less annoying then."

Troi regarded her with a dry expression.

"You were all a long way from home. I'm sure a great deal of things began to look amusing."

Janeway snorted at the darkness of Troi's comment just as the lift doors opened. This kind of humor was rare from the Counselor, reserved only for husband and a few select friends.

"How was the conference on Meros?"

"Interesting," Janeway replied.

Troi eyed her warily and the Admiral relented. It was pointless to dodge the other woman this way and Janeway wasn't even sure why she tried.

"Interesting in theory. Painfully boring in practice."

The three-day conference on Meros IV had roughly lived up to Janeway's expectations. Fascinating papers on transwarp travel; exceedingly dry presentations of them that made her wish she'd just waited for them to be published in one of the half dozen scientific journals on the topic. In the end, the only reason she'd gone was because Tom had informed her that the _Titan_ would be traveling close to the Meros system that week.

"We could be your chauffeur," he'd said, waggling his eyebrows at her over the vid link.

"But what will your commanding officers think?" she'd quipped.

"Don't worry. I know a guy."

That was all it had taken for Janeway to endure three painful days on Meros- the promise of seeing Tom in person for the first time in six months. She'd been able to see him more frequently when he was stationed aboard the USS _Hemingway_ as Chief Conn Officer. But they both knew he'd outgrown that position even before he took it, and she was relieved when he was promoted to Commander and offered the spot on the _Titan_. Riker's first XO had been a poor match, and the officer had resigned quietly after only a year and a half, publicly citing a desire to be stationed closer to Bajor and his family. Tom was a much better fit and seemed to revel in his work.

Still, Janeway wished it hadn't meant that he was so rarely able to make it back to San Francisco.

Approaching Holodeck 2, Janeway watched as Riker, followed by Paris, exited into the corridor, still clad in their shiny silver athletic gear.

"I really wish," Riker said, sarcasm apparent in his voice, "that when I'd interviewed First Officers, I'd thought to ask about their _basic competence _at this sport."

"First of all, Captain," Tom began, crossing his arms in a defiant stance. "_I_ wasn't the one who missed that last shot by an entire light year."

Riker scoffed.

"And second, _you_ didn't interview me for this job. Your wife did."

Beside Janeway, Troi stifled a laugh.

When Tom had still been assigned to the _Hemingway_, Troi had come aboard, nominally on her way to visit Betazed and her mother. Really, she'd been there to scout Paris. It hadn't even registered to Tom what was going on, and when she engaged him in conversation during her tour, he spoke openly about his experiences on _Voyager_, his fondness for his former crew. But, also, he'd admitted his desire to take on responsibilities beyond what he currently had on his plate. She found him clever and articulate, remarkably intuitive when it came to people. More importantly, she realized he was interested in moving on his career, though less out of ambition than the desire to be challenged again.

"He's your First Officer," she'd declared back on the _Titan_, before even putting her things down in their quarters.

But it had taken another three months for Will to be convinced. It wasn't Tom's past before _Voyager_ that worried him. If anything, that made Riker respect what Paris had achieved even more. Rather, it was the number of interviews Tom had done after returning home. The media had hounded him, making him into the poster boy for resurrection and the new Starfleet. He'd almost become as famous as Janeway herself.

Riker had feared that Paris had basked in the attention a little too much.

What he didn't know at the time was that Tom had hated all of it. That he'd known the interest was mostly shallow (he had a famous last name and baby blue eyes that would stand out well on the vids). Still, he kept up the public profile because it was platform to argue for the rights of the former Maquis on _Voyager_. It was a debt he thought he owed to his friends. A debt he thought he owed to Kathryn, too.

He would always remember his shock when his father told him, sitting in Janeway's quarters as _Voyager_ slowly made its way to Jupiter Station, that though he would be given a full commission, the status of the former Maquis crewmembers was "up in the air."

"The situation is complicated, son."

His father's voice had been kind but Tom had felt Kathryn tense next to him.

"They're family, Dad. There's nothing complicated about it."

His voice had grown eerily cold, but he'd felt his face flush with anger.

"They risked their lives for us. For seven years. They woke up every morning, and without hesitation, they put their lives on the line. For this ship, for her crew." He looked at his father, his eyes becoming pleading. "For me."

When his father had transported back to the _Prometheus_, Kathryn had remained quiet, her head swimming with the fear and anger she now felt on behalf of her crew. Tom silently slipped his hand into his hers, and they'd stayed there for some time, staring out her viewport at the familiar stars that no longer looked as welcoming as they'd once imagined.

After two months of media circus and constant speculation, Starfleet had allowed everyone to keep their commissions. Only a few declined, Chakotay among, but this last part hadn't really surprised anyone. Those officers who'd never graduated from the Academy would be expected to complete certain examinations, though they were largely perfunctory and could be administered wherever they were posted.

"Well, I have to go," B'Elanna had said to him over a vid line, three months after their return.

She'd already been stationed aboard the _Odysseus_ at the time, and though she wasn't Chief Engineer, it was clear she was expected to take over the position when the interim Chief moved on in less than a year.

"I have important homework to do, after all. Preparation for my big, scary test."

Tom had rolled his eyes, but otherwise let her bitterness go. The next week, however, he'd visited Chakotay at Princeton. He remarked to the older man that he thought the irony of B'Elanna being on a ship named for a mythic figure renowned for patience and wisdom was far too rich.

Chakotay had smirked all the way to his next class.

Looking at Tom now, Janeway wondered where the last four years had flown. She could still remember the first month at home with complete clarity. None of them quite sure where each of their paths would take them; Tom visiting her at her mother's home in Indiana when the uncertainty got to be too much for both of them. The afternoons they'd spent on the porch there, sitting together silently on the swing, despite the cold and snow.

Standing in front of her now, arguing familiarly with Will Riker as Riker's wife watched with amusement, Tom seemed as though he'd been on the _Titan_ all his life. She suddenly felt an aching pain in the pit of her stomach.

"Look here, Paris, my wife might be terribly fond of you. But don't think that means anything at the end of the day. Especially when you go around costing me parrises matches."

"Gentlemen," Troi interrupted, her voice more stern than Janeway had ever previously heard it. "I think it's fair to say that I'm not especially fond of either of you right now."

She looked at Janeway briefly.

"And neither is the Admiral, I'd venture."

"Admiral Janeway," Riker greeted, his mouth slightly twitching.

Tom looked nervous for only a beat before regarding Janeway with a huge smile.

"Hello, stranger." He beamed at her, but made no move to hug her. Even out of uniform, he knew the rules she had to play by now.

She fought her urge to return his smile, placing her hands on her hips instead. This time, Tom froze completely.

"You stood me up at the transporter room and didn't even win your match, Commander?" Her grey eyes narrowed. "I could have sworn I taught you better than that."

Paris considered telling her that he could have done it in Janeway fashion- standing her up and then acting as though it was an imposition to even be asked to leave whatever he was doing at all. But here, in public, he wouldn't make such a joke.

Tom forced an apologetic look onto his face before standing up nice and straight.

"Buy you a cup of coffee, Admiral?"

Riker and Troi watched with amusement as Janeway seemed to weigh Paris' offer.

"Sold."

Before they parted company with Troi and Riker, Janeway agreed with Troi's suggestion that the four of them should dine together that evening. She liked the couple as much as Tom did. Still, she was reluctant to share her time with Tom with anyone else. She realized, looking at him now, how much she'd missed her friend.

Walking back to the turbolift, Paris took Janeway's small bag, their arms occasionally brushing as they walked. She regarded him with a small smirk.

"Why don't we go to your quarters so you can change into something. . . Less ridiculous."

He glowered at her briefly, calling for his deck once they were inside the turbolift.

"Joke all you want, Kathryn. But doing this kind of thing is how I manage to stay young and handsome."

She looked straight ahead, deciding she still wanted payback for him failing to meet her earlier.

"Tom, you haven't been young in some time."

Beside her, his face fell slightly.

"And I'm not sure that you were ever handsome."

He elbowed her softly, and she looked at him expectantly, surprised when he made no response to her joke. She'd half expected him to state, jokingly, that he knew of a certain Commander on Starbase 54 who thought otherwise. But he remained silent, not mentioning the woman he'd been seeing for the last five months.

Kathryn took it in, but said nothing, content to bide her time.

When the lift doors opened, she led the way down the corridor. This was her third time visiting him on the _Titan_, though the first two times the ship had been docked at port when she came aboard. On her first visit, Tom was crestfallen when instead of having a quiet meal with him, she'd dragged him all over the vessel, exploring every crevice of the state-of-the-art ship's interior.

"Did you come to see me or the ship?" he'd finally asked after two hours, his patient voice masking the exasperation bubbling within him.

"There are only three Prometheus-class ships on active duty, Tom. This is fascinating for me."

He'd been terribly grateful when, on her next trip, she'd inquired only briefly as to what, if any, modifications they'd made to the vessel.

Now, standing outside his doorway, she waited for him to enter his code. When the doors slid open, he motioned her in with a flourish of his arm. She stepped in with a smile, already moving to the replicator.

She looked around.

"You moved the table again."

He shrugged.

"I don't know that it works anywhere. But it definitely didn't work where it was before."

She nodded in agreement, calling for a cup of coffee. When she returned to the living area, Tom was standing beside the table in question, looking at her with a contemplative expression. She looked at him questioningly when he took her coffee from her, setting it down beside him.

Smiling, he pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She went willingly, even when he almost pulled her off her feet. She instinctively wrapped her arms tighter around him to balance herself, her face flush against his chest.

When he finally spoke, his voice was small and his arms didn't move from her.

"I didn't know how much I missed you until you were standing there in the corridor. And then my heart lodged in my throat."

She exhaled sharply, her eyes beginning to swim with tears. She pulled back from him reluctantly.

"I missed you, too." She put a hand gently on his chest. "More than I will ever be able to express."

In truth, she missed Tom more than everyone else from _Voyager_. Part of it was that she got to see him the least. But another part of her knew that even if she was able to see Tom weekly, as she did with Chakotay, she would still miss him painfully.

As happy as she was to be home, part of her would always long for her life on _Voyager_. It was something she accepted. Something she simultaneously felt guilty about and rarely admitted to out loud.

Tom opened his mouth, but then closed it again, looking at her with a mixture of remorse and something else. Her hand remained on his chest and he looked down at it for a second before meeting her eyes again.

"Is it awful that I miss it? That sometimes I think I would trade all of this to get it back?"

She knew immediately what the 'it' was that he referred to. He had read her own emotions- her longing and nostalgia. Still, she had no doubt the feelings he was voicing now were very much his own as well.

She was flooded with the relief of not being alone, of not being crazy. She closed her eyes as his fingers grasped the hand on his chest.

She shook her head, her only response to his question, before hugging him again and burying her face in his chest.


	5. Fear & patience I

Chapter 5: Fear & patience (I)

Hiding her face behind her glass of wine, Janeway tried to stifle her laughter as Tom regarded her with a pleading expression and Deanna looked at her husband with amusement.

"So instead of just directing the Ensign as to how he should compensate for the gravitational pull, he orders him out of chair, taking the conn himself."

Though Riker was telling the story to Janeway, he watched Paris as he spoke, the latter man trying desperately to hide his embarrassment.

"But, of course, Ensign K'Tel has no where to sit, as the good Commander is in his seat. Nor has he been officially dismissed. So, K'Tel just stands there awkwardly- at attention behind Tom- the whole quarter of an hour it took us to get back into regular space."

At this, Janeway lost the battle to her amusement, throwing her head back and laughing loudly at the picture of the very young, very diligent Klingon officer, whom she'd met briefly in passing her last visit, not knowing how to react when Tom kicked him unceremoniously out of the pilot's seat.

"I'm still not sure why it's that funny," Tom said, more to cover his embarrassment than anything else. "It would have taken me far longer to explain the corrections to him than to do it myself."

This only caused Janeway to laugh harder. She knew first-hand that Tom was nothing if not a patient instructor, and she could count on one hand the number of times he'd lost his temper with someone he was trying to teach, whether it be in piloting or a game on the holodeck.

He'd taken over the conn, she knew, because he'd simply wanted to fly again. And he hadn't cared who he'd had to move out of his way to do it.

She felt sympathy for the impulse. But more so, she enjoyed the profound embarrassment his whim now caused him.

"Of course," Deanna said, her voice gentle but her eyes twinkling with mischief, "you were just being expedient."

Tom's eyes narrowed at the dark-haired woman and she smiled, pressing on.

"It's a completely unrelated fact that all of the pilots seem, genuinely, to fear you more than they do their Captain. Totally random that Lieutenant Krill asks at least two other members of the senior staff to read over his Conn reports before he submits them to you."

Lieutenant Krill was the _Titan_'s Chief Conn Officer; a cautious Bolian who Tom seemed to respect highly as a pilot. Each of the three times Janeway had run across Krill while in the company of Paris, the Lieutenant looked at him as though the XO might eat him with his morning coffee.

Janeway laughed again, wiping tears from her eyes with her free hand. Under the table, Tom kicked at her foot, his face clearly communicating that there would be retaliation for her treacherous behavior later.

"Well," Tom said, placing his napkin on the table. "I hate to interrupt this little conference on my reputation among the ship's pilots. But it's late, and I suspect I should get going."

It was clear from his tone that he wasn't hurt. Rather, it really was late. The four of them had been sitting around the dinner table for more than an hour and a half before Will had sunk his fangs into Tom.

"Deanna, you've chased him off," Riker exclaimed, rising as Paris and Janeway stood from the table.

"Lucky for you, Will, he's here all of the time for you to torture," the Counselor consoled, looking at Janeway with a small smile.

Neither man picked up on it, but Janeway felt awkward rather than amused. The awkwardness was then overtaken by a wave of guilt, an impending tide of dread.

The smile fell from Troi's face as everyone else said their goodbyes, Janeway and Paris slipping out into the corridor.

"That was nice," Janeway said, as they made their way to the turbolift.

"For you," he shot back, his face looking slightly moody.

She patted his arm. Not an apology, but a sign of goodwill nonetheless.

"Do you have time for coffee?"

His days were filled with work, she knew. Briefings. Reports. Reports on briefings. It was easy to drown in the administration of a ship if one didn't keep up.

"For you, my dear Admiral, I have all the time in the world. Your failing loyalty not withstanding."

. . . . .

Back in his quarters, he regarded her over his coffee cup.

They'd been chatting contentedly about odds and ends: her work on the on-going reconstruction of Betazed; the _Titan_'s forays into diplomacy with the Romulans; B'Elanna's ever-deepening courtship with the engineer who'd been the previous Chief on the _Odysseus_. But every so often, Kathryn gave him a cryptic glance. It was a look he couldn't ever read with precision, though it was one he'd still seen from her a hundred times.

She was sizing him up, he knew. He just didn't know why.

"Alright, what gives?"

The late hour and his curiosity prevented him from putting it more diplomatically. She gave him a questioning look and he rolled his eyes.

"I know you, Kathryn. You've been thinking about something all night. You might as well spit it out."

His tone was gentle even though his words weren't. She looked chagrined.

This was so perfectly Tom, she thought. Kind even at the point of his exasperation.

"I've just been wondering," her voice was nonchalant, but something clouded her eyes, "what's going on with you and Katherine Bishop?"

He sighed heavily, putting his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

"I'm rather surprised. It took you nearly five hours to get around to poking around in my love life." He shot her a knowing look, adding "you're losing your touch. Without you and my father hounding me with questions, I won't know what to do with myself."

Kathryn gave him a brief glare, censure for the comparison to his father.

Tom and Admiral Paris had done a great deal to repair their relationship, but there was a now a brand new tension between them. The older Paris, though already a grandfather four times over, wanted his only son to get married and have children. Tom, afraid he was never going to get any peace, had informed his father about his relationship with Commander Bishop shortly after they began seeing each other. He thought it was a maneuver that would buy him some time.

It had proven to be a tactical error. His father became even more insistent with his questions, causing Tom to complain endlessly to Kathryn whenever he talked to her. She'd told him, jokingly, that she and his father were both so preoccupied with his love life because of the lack of occupation with their own. Tom had responded that the only things that had ever stopped her from dating were her own excuses.

He'd made the retort with a light tone, but something in his eyes told her he was serious. The comment had stuck with Kathryn for weeks.

"I'm just curious, not badgering, " she said now, pulling her legs up under her on the couch. "But we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

A knowing smile crept onto her face as she spoke. She knew that if she only asked, Tom would tell her anything. Almost anything, anyway.

Tom looked at her, a contemplative expression replacing the smile he'd previously worn.

"I don't think it's going to last much longer. It isn't really working."

The tone in which he confessed this was almost apologetic. As though he was somehow letting her down by not having a successful relationship. As if she was like his father in her expectations.

She wasn't.

She was disappointed, of course, that he hadn't found someone yet. Saddened, for his sake, that he hadn't been in a lasting relationship since B'Elanna. She'd even held hope that Katherine Bishop was the one to change this. The Commander had previously been stationed in Janeway's office at Headquarters, Janeway finding the other woman smart, funny. Attractive. She wasn't surprised when Tom took interest, though she'd been curious as to whether he'd deliberately waited until Bishop was out of her office before he pursued anything.

Janeway realized that she wasn't exactly crushed by the news Tom was delivering now, and she wondered why she felt relief that Tom wasn't getting serious with a woman she'd once been rather fond of. She was probably scared of losing her best friend, she thought. Their friendship would undoubtedly change if Tom really committed to someone romantically. They would speak less. A polite distance would creep into their interactions. It would be same thin barrier that had long ago inserted itself between herself and Chakotay

Silently, she concluded Tom might have been right to wait until Bishop was out of her office.

"What, exactly, isn't working about it?" she inquired, pushing away her previous thoughts.

"I think she thought we have more time together."

He paused, looking at the coffee table in front of him before continuing.

"I think she assumed that if we stayed together for any length of time, I would put in for a transfer. Take a post that allows me to have a normal life."

Kathryn nodded, her face compassionate. She knew these pitfalls all too well.

"Have you talked to her about it already?"

When she asked, Tom's face became rueful. She realized that things were likely unraveling faster than he initially let on.

"She's not interested in compromising, " Kathryn supplied, saving him from having to explain from the beginning.

He shrugged.

"She doesn't understand where I'm coming from. This," he gestured to his quarters, "_is_ normal to me. This is the life I've had for a long time. This is the life I want."

He stated this as though these first statements naturally led to the last. As though he didn't question that he could want something other than the life he had. This, however, was lost on Janeway, as she'd long ago begun to think of her life in exactly the same terms.

She smiled softly, patting his leg.

"You'll find someone who feels the same way. Maybe not right this second. But. . . eventually."

"In the mean time. . ." he drawled, looking like he was going to say something silly.

"No more younger women?" she finished, looking at him innocently except for her twinkling eyes.

In truth, Bishop wasn't all that young. Only two years younger than Tom. And five years older than B'Elanna, Tom had been quick to point out. Still, there was something about Bishop that told Kathryn the younger woman wasn't quite Tom's equal. Though she might be older than B'Elanna, the engineer's fiery temper had covered a lot of ground.

Kathryn had found it strange, once upon a time, to realize there was a seven year gap between Tom and his half-Klingon ex-girlfriend. But then, before his altered memories, Tom had always consorted with the younger staff. He was as close in age to _Voyager_'s Captain and First Officer as he was to Torres and Kim, but when they found themselves in the Delta Quadrant, Tom's first bonds had been made with the younger group. And then the anomaly had changed how Paris saw his life and his relationships.

It hadn't fundamentally altered the fabric of who he was, exactly. It had been more like a strong wind blowing the dust off a well-used rug; the pattern and colors that were already there finally emerging in the light. He'd become wiser, kinder. More confident of himself and his own strength.

On his better days, he could stand toe-to-toe with Kathryn Janeway without flinching.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his lips quirking in a half smirk.

"I was going to say no more Katherines, as they tend to be stubborn as mules," he deadpanned, sipping his coffee. "But your suggestion might be apt as well."

Tom swore loudly when the throw pillow connected solidly with the side of his head, the warm contents of his mug spilling onto his lap.

. . . . .

In her guest quarters, Janeway tossed and turned. It was early in the morning cycle, but she hadn't managed to sleep at all.

When Tom had called her out in his quarters, she'd reached for the topic of his romantic life. It was a convenient prop, as she had, in truth, been wondering about it all day. Still, she'd half suspected Tom would call her out again, seeing through the maneuver to the fact that she was dodging him once more.

He hadn't. And now she felt more frustrated than relieved. She'd gone to bed worrying about her choices, when it would have been better just to get it all out in the open.

"Time?" she called, her voice hoarse from both disuse and exhaustion.

"The time is 05:30."

She rose from the bed, kicking the covers away with force. She didn't bother to get fully dressed, pulling on the pants she'd worn the night before, while retaining the black top with thin straps she'd slept in. She didn't bother to brush her hair either, and instead pulled it back in a ponytail that fell just below her shoulders as she walked down the corridor.

Standing in the turbolift, she didn't wonder if he was up or else worry that she would be waking him. Her hand tapped rapidly as she leaned against the lift's wall, willing it to speed faster to its destination.

Beneath all of the Starfleet training, aside from all of the command experience and impossible situations she'd learned to weather, Kathryn Janeway was not someone who could be readily described as patient. Rather, she was someone who, in the many guarded moments of her life, schooled herself to be patient. Someone who, in her rare unguarded moments, both required and expected utmost patience.

When his door chimed a third time, Tom was halfway to the entrance, groggy and a bit disoriented. He'd become an early riser before he left _Voyager_, but this hour was early even for him. He was surprised when Kathryn barreled into his living area, too impatient to wait for him to answer.

He was half asleep, but her behavior nevertheless registered with him as unusual. She knew his codes, of course, They were the same as on _Voyager_ and she'd seem him enter them a hundred times. Still, she'd only taken the liberty once, never doing so again.

It had been back on _Voyager_, just before their return to Alpha Quadrant. They'd made plans for dinner and she'd been running early, a rarity for her, and she decided to let herself into Tom's quarters. She thought he'd appreciate the gesture and had been terribly proud of herself for finally letting down some of her own barriers.

She'd taken all of those thoughts back when she'd walked in on Tom completely naked, not so much as even a towel around him given that he'd just taken a sonic shower. She'd sputtered some kind of an apology and turned around, but, to her horror, realized she could only back up so far before she would have activated his doors' sensors, revealing him (and herself) to anyone strolling by in the corridor.

Standing with her back to him, she'd felt intensely angry at her own short-sightedness. There was a reason, after all, that B'Elanna could so comfortably stroll into Tom's quarters as she pleased. There was nothing the engineer could walk in on that she hadn't already seen before.

Her anger had turned outward when she'd heard Tom's laughter behind her, and then his voice making a joke about best-laid plans. For a nanosecond, she'd been dangerously close to taking a step forward, revealing him in all his glory to the ship, despite that the position it would her also put her in. She didn't, of course, but it was two whole weeks before she realized he'd deliberately made her angry at him.

Janeway's anger, Paris knew, was infinitely easier to elicit than her trust, and it tended to ride roughshod over other feelings, like discomfort and self-consciousness. Even fear.

As a rumpled Janeway stalked past him now into his quarters, the joke that sprang to mind died on Tom's lips. It was obvious that she was upset about something. For starters, she wasn't exactly clad in attire she would normally wander around a ship in. Further, she was pacing his living room, her lips pressing into a thin line and her eyes looking everywhere but his face.

"I wasn't honest with you earlier," she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

"When? About what?"

He blocked the path she was pacing, guiding her to the chair in his office. She didn't sit in it, but perched instead on his desk. He sat in the chair himself, leaning forward so that there were only a few centimeters between their bodies.

"When you asked me what I'd been thinking about all day. And I told you I was wondering about you and Katherine Bishop."

She shook her head slightly and he waited for her to go on.

"It wasn't true." She stopped, quickly retracting, "well, it was true. But not exactly. I mean, I guess I'd been thinking about that all day, too. But not really. I wondered, maybe-"

"Kathryn," he said, when she began to ramble. "What is that you actually wanted to tell me?"

He grabbed her just above her hips when he interrupted her. Something about him holding her this way reassured her and disquieted her all at once. She pulled away slightly, his hands dropping into his lap.

"Starfleet has given me a temporary assignment." She crossed her arms again, her voice becoming even. "They want me to go on a tour of some the Federation colonies that have been clamoring for more reconstruction resources. They want me to act as eyes and ears on the ground in weighing the concerns that the Restoration Fund isn't being allocated fairly."

Tom nodded, his face interested as he wanted for Kathryn to go on.

"I won't be making any of the final decisions, but in three weeks I'll embark on a two month tour of some of the planets who've made petitions. It may all be for show in the end, but I think they're serious enough right now. I think the Federation is genuinely reconsidering its current approach."

"That's great," Tom replied, though there was a question in his voice.

It wasn't that he was concerned about her mission. Privately, he'd thought for almost three years that the Federation needed to start paying attention to places other than the traditional strongholds they'd been lavishing attention on. Planets like Betazed might be tactically important, and even hold political significance given their place in the Federation, but such places also had a strong infrastructure of their own to keep things going, as well as the funds to match. Others weren't as lucky when it came to rebuilding.

He didn't worry about Janeway being the one to lead the fact-finding trip, either. She was fair, and took into account human suffering as much as she did practicality. She was always able to see through the bullshit to the truth. Also, she was good with people, though she never came off as a practiced diplomat.

She would inspire trust, he knew without question.

She searched his face as if she was waiting for him, and for a moment he thought he'd missed something. But then he realized that she'd been having this conversation for hours, maybe days, in her own head, and he hadn't missed anything at all. She'd just failed to voice the crucial points.

"So," he began, his voice soft, "what is it, exactly, that you think you failed to disclose to me earlier this evening?"

Her face twisted, her gazing dropping from his face to his lap.

"I get to take someone with me. I thought it would be just be my secretary from HQ, but it's not like that. Starfleet Command told me a week ago that it's someone to be in the negotiating room with me. Someone else to see what things look like on the ground. "

She looked at his open face and she realized with a sense of dread that she was going to have to ask.

"I want it to be you who goes." Her voice was almost a whisper. "I'd like for you to take temporary leave from the _Titan_ and come with me."

His face was expressionless when she said this, and for a moment she was plunged into agonizing doubt. She tried to swallow the bile that crept up her throat.

"Are you sure that it's me that you want to go with you? You have hundreds, maybe thousands of officers to choose from. People who've spent their entire lives working at diplomacy."

He was right, they both knew. Janeway had all of Starfleet at her feet these days. And the assignment in question would look good in any officer's file, especially someone who was looking to make Captain one day.

Tom wasn't in this last category, and he'd made no bones about expressing it to Kathryn on several occasions.

"I know," she said, finding his eyes. "But I need it to be someone I trust. Someone who understands me."

He eyes softened at this, but his face was still contemplative, questioning.

"You could ask Chakotay, you know. His new term hasn't started yet and I'm sure he'd be willing to postpone that new grad course he's teaching."

The idea he was proposing was one that had occurred in passing to Janeway. But still, when he said this, she searched his face.

It had been six and a half years since Tom's encounter with the anomaly. Six and a half years since he'd lived a life in which he felt he was coming in second to a dead man. He rarely spoke of it anymore, the experience retreating from him as though it had been some kind of lucid dream. But still, when Tom said things like this, Kathryn became fearful, searching his face for signs of pain or anguish . Looking for any trace of the belief that his friendship was a sad consolation prize to her. A shoddy substitute she would trade away in an instant.

She never found it. But after all this time, she still looked. Every time, she looked.

"I know," she said, her eyes falling to his lap again. "But I want it to be you."

She could have explained that he had a natural gift for diplomacy. That he could read her better than anyone. But beneath everything else, the words she spoke were the core truth. The reason she needed him; the reason her stomach now throbbed like she'd been living off of one of Neelix's coffee substitutes.

Tom scratched his stubble, and Kathryn watched as the thoughts passed across his face.

He wasn't weighing his options. He'd decided the moment she asked. He was just calculating the consequences now.

"Will's not going to be happy," he said, shaking his head and sitting back in his chair.

"I can be the one to tell him if you want."

"No," he said shaking his head immediately. "I'll tell him."

His voice was heavy with guilt, and Kathryn understood why. He was going to have to pass off his responsibilities to other officers who already had full plates. He was going to have to leave a Captain who trusted him- a friend who counted on him- without an XO for two months.

Looking back, Janeway would be embarrassed at the lack of remorse she felt standing in front of him, his eyes clouded with worry. But in that moment, she felt only relief that he had agreed to her request. Elation that in the calculus of obligations, his loyalty to her won out.

"How long should I wait to talk to him?" he asked, pulling himself free of his web of doubt and worry.

Two weeks meant she had to clear him with Starfleet Command. A week meant she'd already floated his name as a possibility.

She tried not to cringe when she answered.

"You can tell him tomorrow if you like."

His face was expressionless again and she fought the urge to duck her head. He exhaled heavily.

"Alright." He stood up from the chair. "But I think I'll wait until the day after tomorrow."

Kathryn was scheduled to leave in a little over a day. The fact Tom worried about Riker's reaction to the point of wanting her to be off ship when he informed the Captain spoke volumes. She wasn't sure if Tom was trying to make things easier on her or himself by waiting. She suspected both.

"Whatever decide you, Tom. Just let me know, and I'll take my cue from you. In the mean time. . ." she drawled, her voice sounding like she was about to say something silly.

"We should both avoid Deanna," he finished, a rueful smile on his face.

"I was going to say that I should get a hold of a decent XO to replace you here; perhaps someone to take your spot permanently. But your suggestion works, too."

He rolled his eyes at her, gesturing toward the door.

"Feel free to take your leave now." He made a shooing motion. "Wouldn't want anyone thinking we're having an affair, you exiting my quarters dressed like that."

She frozen in place instead of laughing. It hadn't even occurred to her what it would look like, leaving his quarters in the wee hours of the morning and in less than full dress. In truth, it almost never occurred to her anymore what people might think of her relationship with Tom.

"Do people wonder about us?" she asked, abruptly concerned how it appeared that she had gone through such trouble to visit him; that whenever she saw him for the first time, she probably looked at him like she'd been crawling through Vulcan dessert and stumbled suddenly upon a pool of clear, cool water.

Tom didn't look concerned or annoyed. Instead, he simply shrugged.

"Does it really matter to you, Kath?"

Strangely enough, after thirty years of breathing and eating Starfleet protocol, she realized it didn't.

"Not really," she replied, surprise apparent in her voice.

He smiled.

"Good. Especially since we're about to spend two months alone together, which will be enough fuel to keep the rumor mill going for years, I'm sure." He smirked, adding, "but if you change your mind, I'm certain you can convince Neelix to take leave from the Academy. Take my place following you around from one planet to another, for the good of your reputation."

Kathryn laughed as she pictured Neelix on her heels, desperate to please her and annoying her to no end in the process.

She was still grateful that Neelix ultimately opted to remain with them aboard _Voyager_, though he had briefly considered staying with the Talaxians they'd encountered toward the end of their journey. It wasn't until they were back in the Alpha Quadrant and Neelix came to visit her at the family farm in Indiana that he hold her how Tom had sat with him for nearly three hours in the deserted mess hall the night before he'd made his decision. The pilot hadn't pressed each time that Neelix opened his mouth but failed to speak. Instead, he'd finally put his arm on Neelix's shoulder, telling him that no matter what he decided, they would support him. He was family, and nothing, not even an entire quadrant between them, would ever change that.

"It must have been difficult, knowing you were leaving your own kind far behind," she'd remarked, the sun shining down on them as they plucked their way through the cornfields stretching in front of her mother's house.

"Not nearly as difficult as it would have been leaving my family," he'd replied, shielding his spotted face from the Indiana sun. The response had pleased her more than anything else he'd ever said.

Still, she was happy now that Tom was going with her and not the cheerful Talaxian.

"Maybe the next trip," she said, jokingly, as she turned to leave his quarters. "And only if the gossip about us becomes downright tawdry."

Tom laughed, waving to her as she exited.

. . . . .

Sitting aboard the _Mississippi_, Janeway looked out her viewport at the _Titan_, docked in the very next bay of the space station.

The _Titan_ had arrived only two hours early and Paris was likely in-transit on the station. After he boarded, the _Mississippi_ would it make its way to the Leros system, the first leg of their ten-system itinerary. They would be ferried by a number of ships, and nearly half their time would be spent traveling. The pace whenever they got on the ground would be frantic, but between stops they would have to fill their time with diplomatic reports, social and political histories. There would be things to do and work to be done, but largely they would bide their time while they waited for the next blitz of activity.

Looking out the _Titan_ over the arms of the space station, Janeway didn't feel content at the promise of the many meals and quiet evenings she would spend with Tom over the coming weeks. Nor did she feel excitement at the challenge of her new assignment.

Instead, Kathryn Janeway felt afraid.

She was ripping her friend from his job, from his new home, simply because she desired his company. She worried that what she'd done was cruel. Worse, she recognized that it was the second time she'd asked him to leave what he knew behind in order to be of service to her. The distance, of course, wouldn't be as far this time, nor the journey as long. But Tom was leaving a lot more behind now than when she'd first fetched from the penal colony in Auckland.

She could rationalize until the day they made her a full Admiral that she needed Tom by her side on this mission. But in the end, she knew why she'd asked him. It was that she simply wanted to feel less alone.

In the last four years, she'd missed captaining her ship painfully. But it wasn't the power of her having her own vessel that she yearned for; the excitement of missions and red alerts. She was the most decorated Vice-Admiral in Starfleet, and she had more power than she knew what to do with. She could insert herself into almost any diplomatic scene, board any Federation vessel in any sector she so desired.

What she longed for, sitting alone in her office at Headquarters, was the camaraderie; the feeling that she was surrounded by a family unit. The way Tuvok and Chakotay exchanged knowing glances when she shifted restlessly in her chair on the bridge. The look of surprise and interest that played across Harry Kim's face when she drank beer in Sandrine's. Tom smirking at her when she inserted herself in engineering and B'Elanna practically growled at her.

When she'd left _Voyager_ and her crew behind upon returning to Alpha Quadrant, she'd begun to understand, for the first time, what it must have felt like when Tom had woken up on the floor of the Delta Flyer. His desires realized, his friends returned from the dead. And then to recognize, with slowly materializing pain, that his relationships had shifted beneath him in the blink of an eye. The close friend who'd shared his intimate thoughts and darkest moments not being there to lend an understanding ear.

In seeking the familiar company she'd been lacking, she'd demanded Tom leave the very thing she wanted. It seemed horrifyingly selfish to her now, and the fact that it didn't even occur to Tom to feel resentful made it much, much worse.

The door chimed, and she called for entry, her eyes still on the vessel that would soon be leaving without Paris.

"Hey," Tom said, walking into the living area.

He could read her face, her posture. But he knew well enough not to engage whatever darkness beset her current mood. At least, he knew not to engage it directly. He sat next to her on the couch, his face alight with cheerfulness.

"Should I even ask how you managed to get a hold of a _whole case _of Romulan ale?" he asked, propping his head up with the arm that now rested on the back of the couch.

For a moment, she looked at him.

"You can ask. But I have no intention of telling you, Mister Paris."

He smiled at her, and despite her circling doubts, she reluctantly smiled back.

"I take it Captain Riker enjoyed the peace offering?"

"He said it was the best apology he's ever received," he responded, his smile growing wider. "Also, he asked me to relay to you that he's retracting the ship-wide memo that banned from you from ever coming aboard the _Titan_ again."

At this, Kathryn laughed. Riker had been terribly distraught when he'd learned he would be about Paris, but she'd been relieved to learn he hadn't borne any ill-will. After all those years of turning down his own ship to stay beside Jean-Luc Picard, Riker understood a great about loyalty and bonds that transcended everything else.

"You know, the last time he had Romulan ale was the night before his wedding reception."

Tom leaned in with an intent look as he spoke, as though sharing a classified secret with her.

"Deanna still says it's the only decision about the wedding she regrets." He smirked, adding, "that, and the fact that they asked everyone at the ceremony on Betazed to disrobe. Including Picard."

At this, Kathryn clamped her hand over face, and Tom grinned at her devilishly.

"If and when you get married," Kathryn said, holding up a hand as she used to when Tuvok chided her, "please let it _not_ be to someone from Betazed."

He sighed, standing up from the couch.

"If ever I get married, Kathryn, I'm going to make _sure_ it's to someone whose Betazoid." He paused for effect. "Just to even out the fact that you've seen me naked."

She colored slightly, but still chuckled. Tom only waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Remind me to change my security codes, just in case you get any ideas," she remarked darkly, crossing her arms.

Walking to the door, Tom snorted.

The idea of Tom deliberately walking in on her flew in the face of everything their friendship had been built on; the reality that her boundaries, not his, were always the dividing line for what was considered appropriate or taboo between them.

"I'm a patient man, Admiral," he called, stepping into the corridor. "You never know when I might strike."

When Tom had gone, Kathryn looked out the window again.

Beyond the station and the _Titan_ were the familiar lights of passing ships. The bright shimmer and pulsating heat of engines. Signs of movement; the elegant and seamless passage from one point to another.

She yearned to see the stars streaking past her; the gentle hum of the ship shuddering beneath her feet. Resting her chin on the couch, she though that they couldn't get moving soon enough.


	6. Fear & patience II

Chapter 6: Fear and patience (II)

"That's an impossible demand," Janeway retorted, her voice rising with the anger that had been building all morning.

"Hardly," the leader spat. "Impossible is what we've been asked to deal with. Impossible is you coming here and expecting us to trust you."

On the opposite side of the long table, Governor Mollen glared at her, his unmasked disdain apparent beneath his anger.

"Perhaps we should take a break," Janeway breathed. "Reconvene when we've both had a chance to cool off."

The look the leader had given her told her there would likely be no cooling off today. Still, he seemed as grateful to retreat from the table as she was.

Coming out of the capital building, Kathryn closed her as eyes as the planet's warm, dry wind found her.

The Agauos colony was the eighth of the ten stops on her itinerary, and she'd known going in that it would be the hardest.

The night before they'd reached orbit, Tom had looked at her pensively, his eyes clouded with concern before he ducked his head back to the report he was feverishly reading.

There were theoretically days of preparation to be done before reaching any planet, but Kathryn had realized two days into their trip that Tom had come as prepared as she had. She'd handed him a diplomatic report on Leros, while they were lounging in her quarters, and she'd looked over a few minutes later to realize that he was scanning it with no real interest.

"You've already read it, haven't you?" she'd asked, her voice thick with frustration that he hadn't just come out and told her.

"Yes," he'd replied, a bit sheepishly. "I've also read the report on Leros that the Captain of the _Prometheus_ filed after it's time there last year." He paused. "And I may have picked up a few non-Starfleet items as well."

She'd looked at him, an expression of surprise and amusement on her face. She could only imagine what his workload had been in the run up to leaving the _Titan_. And he'd managed, on top of that, to complete the entirety of the research she'd planned for him to read while they were in transit.

"You can't still be worried about impressing me, after all these years."

Her mouth tugged into a lopsided grin and he crossed his arms, his posture somewhere between defensiveness and amusement.

"Oh, I think that ship has long since sailed." He looked rueful, adding. "But I have been terrified of trying to keep up with you."

She'd laughed, and from then on they'd both dropped any pretext of how much work they'd both put in before leaving. Their last minute preparation before arriving at a planet was light; a few hours of work to be stretched out across days of travel.

In the run up to Agauos, however, they'd both sunk themselves into every scrap of information, every footnote on the colony that they could find.

The colony had never been high on the Federation's list of priorities. It was one of the planets that had almost been traded away in it's hasty peace with the Cardassians a decade and a half earlier, long before the Dominion and threats from the Gamma quadrant were even an issue. After surviving the threat of being turned over to the Cardassians, Agauos braved the worst of the Dominion War. It suffered through Cardassian occupation when the Federation boarders were besieged and managed to keep its political system intact while its leaders were killed, its population displaced.

The end of the war had brought only moderate relief to the small population on the colony. The Federation was slow to take interest in rebuilding efforts on Agauos, and even slower to openly shoot down renewed Cardassian interest in the planet.

All things considered, Janeway couldn't really blame Mollen for not trusting her. He'd watched while his father, Agauos' previous Governor, was killed at the start of the war. Watched while the Federation openly bargained with those who had slain the fallen leader, simultaneously denying his people the aid they desperately needed.

Looking around the city, she took in the decaying buildings and lack of commotion in the streets. By Alpha Quadrant standards, the planet was poor. By Federation standards, it was destitute. She pondered the tragedy of the planet's circumstances.

The name 'Agauos' was from the ancient Greek, meaning illustrious or noble. She was relieved its founders, filled with hope and a desire for a better life, had never had to see what their home had become.

Across from the capital building, there was a facility roughly akin to an orphanage. One of many on Agauos since the war. During negotations, Mollen had frequently looked at it through the window of their meeting room. Perhaps it was a tactic to remind Janeway of the misery of the Agaousians' circumstances. Perhaps it was simply to remind himself of what was at steak when tempers had flared. Either way, she understood.

In the playground of the orphanage, she recognized Tom's familiar body standing among the children. He stood out immediately among the olive-skinned, dark-haired Agauosians. She wasn't sure what to make of his location, but found her legs moving to meet him.

When she entered the playground, one of the Agauosian workers looked at her with open suspicion. Tom nodded at the woman, a sign that Janeway was with him. This seemed to mollify her, and she turned to look after the three small children toddling at her feet.

"You seem to be having better luck inspiring trust than I am," Kathryn said, nodding with her chin toward the woman's retreating figure.

Tom looked up at her with a searching expression. He was covered in dirt and beside him, playing contentedly in the sand with a model ship, was a fair-skinned boy who appeared to be about four.

"I wondered how things were going to in there after you two dismissed everyone else."

Tom's concerned expression melted into a smile when the boy made an engine noise, lifting the ship up with his hands. A child after his own heart.

Janeway slumped on the ground beside Paris, her eyes on the child and the toy.

"I want to help Mollen. But I don't think I convince him to let me in long enough to do it." She tore her eyes away from the boy and looked at Tom. "He's stubborn."

"He's scared," Tom modified, still looking at the child. "He's afraid he won't be able to protect his people. He's scared of what will become of them." His voice was low when he said this, and his eyes filled with sadness.

The boy had blonde hair like Tom and delicate features like Kathryn. Traits that weren't rare in Terrans generally, but were uncommon in the gene pool of Agauos. The child, dissimilar from prospective parents, would not be adopted quickly. Perhaps not adopted at all.

Nature's methods of ensuring creatures took care of their own often backfired in cruel ways.

"I'm not sure what to do now," she confessed, watching Tom watch the child.

"You have to make him see that as rational as his fear is, it's also crippling him," he replied, looking at her. "You have to convince him that there are worse things than putting trust in people and having it fail."

For the rest of her break, they stayed there in the sand; Tom, Kathryn, and the child who looked like both of them.

The next day, things with Mollen went a bit smoother. Every time the Governor spurned her, Janeway found a patience she never knew she had, looking back at him with a soft expression and compassion in her eyes.

When they broke for lunch, Tom left the building several minutes before her. She wasn't surprised to find him back in the playground, again covered in dirt.

She had no idea how he would get cleaned up in time for the afternoon talks, but she also didn't quite seem to care. She sank beside him in the sand, particles making their way into her boot.

This time, the fair-headed boy had a playmate; a girl with long, brown hair who towered over him and who, Tom later told later that evening, would be going home with a family the next day. When the girl reached for the toy ship, the boy clung to it desperately. Tom eyed the exchange with interest, looking at the boy with compassion when he buried his face in Tom's stomach.

New toys were rare here, as they were a luxury that came after medical supplies and basic necessities. When Paris and Janeway's ship departed, the toys they'd had replicated would quickly age and break. And then there be only empty space and longing where the toys had once been.

"You should share with her," Tom said to the boy, in a tone that conveyed the sharing of a secret more than an admonishment. "One day, you're going to realize girls are pretty."

Tom looked at Kathryn and the boy followed his eyes, listening as the blonde man leaned closer. As though they were hatching an elaborate plan.

"You're going to want to be nice to them now, so that they like you later."

Slowly, the boy extended the toy to the girl, and Kathryn looked at Tom with a mix of amazement and amusement. She opened her mouth to tease her friend for his line of persuasion, but they were interrupted by the presence of Mollen standing above them.

"What are you doing here?" The leader's voice was past suspicion and into accusation.

Janeway's mind raced to take control of the situation, but before she thought to say anything she heard Tom replying.

"Governor, where else should we want to be?"

Tom's voice was sincere. His face open as he watched the children beside him with joy as well as sadness. Mollen took it all in.

The leader seemed to deflate, his anger leaving him and fatigue overwhelming his dark features. Silently, he sat on the ground across from Janeway and Paris.

"I grew up in a place like this," the Agauosian eventually confessed, glancing at the children as they played.

He watched as the Starfleet officers looked puzzled. He understood. His father had never advertised his son's lineage, and he knew it wasn't in any of the published records about him. Slowly, he began to explain.

"My father, the Governor, adopted me when I was ten. But by then, I'd already learned too many hard lessons." He smiled as the girl sweetly handed the toy ship back to the boy, the boy accepting it with unbridled glee. "It's difficult to trust people when you grow up without people caring about you. Without feeling safe."

Janeway watched the leader, feeling grateful for his sudden softness. Grateful for the opening Tom had provided her with.

"I'm not sure, in the end, that the Federation can ever do enough." She glanced at the children before meeting Mollen's eyes. "But I'd like to help you achieve something better for your people. For your children."

Mollen nodded, but didn't move to get up.

Instead they sat there, the five of them. The three adults watching as the warm Agauosian wind moved the girl's brown hair, and the boy looking at her with unmasked interest.

. . . . . .

When Tom pushed his way through her door, Kathryn wasn't sure what had taken place.

"I'm staying in here with you," he informed her brusquely, as he stepped around her smaller frame and into her guest room.

Paris' voice left no room for questions, and he threw his things down with force on the couch near her bed.

"Why? What's wrong?" She looked at him with confusion and concern.

Tom didn't behave this way with her. He didn't inform her impatiently, and without regard for her feelings, that he was going to do something that may invade her personal space.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he nodded with his head toward the door. When Janeway opened it and peered into the hallway, she saw that the guards who'd been stationed at their doors were gone. She imagined they'd gone either to get a drink of water or else to use the restroom.

She exhaled heavily, closing the door again.

She'd hesitated when Dorvan's First Minister had invited them to stay on the planet. Like Agauos, Dorvan V had been one of the planets the Federation had been willing to trade away to the Cardassians before the war, and the resulting chaos had played out more years earlier, with the _Enterprise_-D in orbit.

Janeway could still hear the sad words of Jean-Luc Picard's log entries from thirteen years earlier echoing in her ears. She could also hear her former First Officer's warning to her, just before she left San Francisco.

"There's a reason I haven't been back there, Kathryn. Just be careful."

Chakotay had been right about his home world, of course.

Dorvan V was back on the Federation side of the border now, and the government was eager to please to keep it that way. Too eager, its population thought, and constant flare ups of violence occurred everyday. The assassination of one of the regional leaders the week before Janeway and Paris came. A bombing on the main continent the morning they arrived.

Paris had shot her a meaningful look when she'd accepted the Minister's invitation. She hadn't wanted to be rude and he understood, but it was clear that neither the Federation nor Starfleet were well liked on this planet. Killing a Vice-admiral, he assumed, would be quite the message for insurgents to send to Dorvan' government about their sycophantic relations with the Federation.

Looking at Tom, Kathryn seemed deflated.

"I guess the Minister's personal guards aren't quite as well trained as their Starfleet counterparts."

Tom snorted, eyeing her with thinly-veiled frustration.

"My condolences to the Minister, as well as his staff," he remarked darkly, moving his phaser as he made his bed on the couch.

Janeway was willing to endure Paris' sour mood. Agreeing to stay here might not have been a mistake, exactly, but it was certainly a risk she hadn't needed to take. He was worried now about her safety rather than his own. And it didn't matter to him that if her room was really besieged, his lone phaser would be of little consequence.

"You can't sleep on the couch, Tom."

"You're not staying-"

"I know," she cut him off, holding up her hand as a silent plea. "And I'm not arguing."

In front of her, he seemed to calm, his petulant expression shifting back into his usual countenance.

"I'm just saying that if you're going to stay here, you can't sleep on the couch. We both know that your back is going to kill you if you do."

Tom didn't say anything. Instead, he scratched his head with a rueful expression. She was right, he knew.

Overall, Tom was an incredibly healthy person. He was athletic and rarely got sick. He could eat almost anything without discomfort, and was able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. He was built like a man half his age.

Except for his back.

By the time he was thirty, it would be tense and sore if he'd gone to sleep in an awkward position. It bothered him after he played Velocity, or if he'd spent the day bent over a console, doing repairs. And every single time he'd fallen asleep on Janeway's couch on _Voyager_, that damn lump in the center cushion had produced a kink that had refused to go away for days.

When Kathryn had taken the couch with her for her office at Headquarters, Tom had looked at her in horror. She had just smiled and smiled at him.

"Fine," he said, throwing his pillow onto the bed. "But, if this is just some grand plan to seduce me, Admiral. . ."

She crossed her arms in front of her and he wagged a finger at her.

"I should warn you now, before you do anything else, that I'm far too tired to be of any use at the moment."

He sat on the bed with a thud as he finished, and she looked at him with a smirk.

"Lucky for you, I have no interest in your 'uses'."

"Oh?" he said, as she climbed into bed beside him. "Then why are there are so many rumors about us?"

"Because there's nothing else to talk about, it seems."

"Hmm."

"Besides," she remarked, hitting the panel for the lights. "I have it on good authority that you're of no 'use' anyway." She paused. "Katherine Bishop and I still speak frequently."

At the mention of his now ex-girlfriend, followed by the uncharacteristic taunt about his sexual prowess, Tom began to laugh.

As long as they'd known each other, as open and teasing as they were with one another, Janeway never made jokes like this.

"Have you been keeping this dirty sense of humor from me the entire time I've known you? Were you hiding it in your desk? Or maybe under your uniform?" He peaked under the covers, as though he were looking for her tawdry thoughts there.

She fluffed the blankets around her.

"Don't you worry about what I keep under my uniform, Tom Paris."

At this, Tom lost it entirely, and then so did Kathryn. Both of their bodies shook with amusement in the dark.

Long after they stilled, unconsciousness evaded both of them. Kathryn rolled over on her side and looked at Tom. He'd given up on even trying to sleep, and his blue eyes gazed at her in the yellow late of the Dorvan moon.

"Are you upset about B'Elanna?" she asked, her voice low and gravelly.

He could have been slow to fall asleep because of their shared bed, but Kathryn knew their proximity didn't bother him. At this point in their friendship, they didn't worry about sitting too close on the couch or hugging too tightly. Moving from one planet to another, she often propped her sock-clad feet in his lap while they sat reading reports, his free hand massaging the balls of her feet as he scanned his PADD.

She also suspected he wasn't kept up, as she was, by worries about the next round of talks. He had a far away expression, and it reminded her of look he'd had the previous day, when they'd received B'Elanna's message informing them of her engagement. It was same expression he'd had six years earlier in Sandrine's, when he'd explained why he'd ended things with engineer after his encounter with the anomaly.

"I don't know," he replied, his eyes clouding in thought. "I think. . . part of me thinks I should be. Part of me expects to feel like someone is marrying my wife; the person I'm supposed to be with."

"But you don't?" She propped her head up with her hand, waiting as he worked through his thoughts.

"Not really," he replied finally. "And I know Harry doesn't believe me. That he's just waiting for me to fall apart, or cry, or something."

Kathryn smiled. They'd been chauffeured to Dorvan V by the ship Kim was stationed on, the USS _Adelphi_. It was nice for both of them to get to see Harry. But the moment B'Elanna's message came through, Harry began to watch Tom with a look of partially-masked concern.

Janeway was sure, as the _Adelphi _orbited Dorvan, Kim's forehead was still knit with worry.

"He still doesn't make have much of a poker face, does he?" Her eyes twinkled.

"Nope." He smiled. "And let's not pretend that particular trait isn't the reason you've always adored young Mr. Kim."

"It's one of many," she replied, chuckling before searching his face. "But back to the original conversation."

He paused, casting his eyes to the ceiling.

"I'm happy for her. Really, I am. And I think I'm even relieved that it's her that's getting married first. Because it means that I don't have to feel guilty that things didn't work out between us back then."

"But?" she prodded, staring at him intently.

"But. . . It's also making me think about my own life. The things I want."

She regarded him with compassion, and then with confidence.

"You know what you want, Tom. Even if you haven't found it all yet."

Her face was warm and her eyes certain, and Tom couldn't bring himself to look at her any longer. He closed his eyes, hoping the darkness would shade his doubts.

It didn't. And when he felt a gentle tapping of a finger on his forehead, he suddenly wished he'd stayed in his own room.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Staring at him were concerned grey eyes, framed by auburn hair.

"Hey," she murmured, dropping her hand to his pillow. "Talk to me."

He inhaled deeply, trying to swallow the wave of fear that choked his throat.

"When I left for this mission, I knew what I wanted. Or at least, I thought I knew." He paused, his eyes softening. "But here I am, away from my ship, away from the work I've contentedly buried myself under for the last few years. . . And I'm. . . the happiest I think I've ever felt."

Kathryn wanted to smile, but the emotion with which he was relaying this last sentiment- the pain and confusion in his voice- prevented her. Centimeters from her own face, she could see his lips press into a thin line before he continued speaking.

"Kath, I thought, as nice it would be to spend time with an old friend, it would be hard to leave the _Titan_. That I would miss the daily grind of a vessel. The pattern of living that's divided neatly by shifts; my time filled with meetings and administration." He stopped, shaking his head. "But you know what?"

His voice dropped to a whisper as he asked this, something akin to embarrassment clouding his features. She looked at him expectantly.

"I'm depressed that in a week that I'm going back to it all. That I'm going to leave behind this life of quiet dinners and sitting on the couch reading with you."

He closed his eyes again, and his voice grew even softer, his words becoming difficult for her to hear despite how close she was to him.

"I'm completely terrified that I'm about to go back to an empty cabin. And that that's what I'm going to come home to night after night for the rest of my life."

Her eyes welled with tears when he finished, and she found his hand beneath the blanket.

"I know," she said, closing her eyes as well.

Of course she did. It was the feeling she'd carried with her long before she met him two months earlier on the _Mississippi_.

The reason he hadn't wanted to confess this pain to her, fearing he would make her own worse.

Lying there, neither consoled the other with the thought that eventually they would find someone, as they both knew it was possible that they wouldn't. Nor could they bring themselves to speak of the rewards of a Starfleet life; the comforts an illustrious career brought, even if one ended up alone.

Putting her head on his chest, Kathryn listened to the steady thud of Tom's heartbeat and felt the rise and fall of his chest beneath her. Her breath quietly rustled his night shirt. Their hands still clasped, her thumb traced slow circles in the center of his palm.

Eventually, they both drifted off to sleep, each comforted by the gentle rhythm of the other.

. . . . . .

Running down the narrow ally, Kathryn promised herself that she was going to listen to Tom more.

If they made it out of this without dying, she was going to drink less coffee, spend more time with her mother, and _definitely_ listen to Tom more.

Coming out of their second round of meeting on Dorvan, the Minister's security force had surrounded them when the sound of phaser fire rang out. Unfortunately, they'd also allowed the group to be forced down the street by the blasts, moving right into the waiting ambush.

The ensuing exchange of fire had been chaotic, but Tom had been able to comm the _Adelphi_, and the vessel would be in transporter range in less than thirty seconds. If only Paris and Janeway could outrun the blasts of the insurgents fast enough.

Rounding a corner, Paris shoved Janeway in front of him, looking back over his shoulder as they ran.

"Coming into range in fifteen seconds," rang Harry's voice from Tom's badge.

It would have been a welcome announcement if Paris and Janeway hadn't just then run into a dead end. Within seconds, they heard the thud of footsteps in the distance behind them.

Without hesitation, Paris stepped in front of Janeway, pinning her body to the stone wall with his chest and arms. Realizing what he was doing, she fought to push him away. But his larger body overwhelmed hers, and all she could manage was the space to look up into his face.

His expression was serene. As though all his life, he'd anticipated dying this way for her.

There was no trace of fear. No sign of regret. Just a shattering calmness in his eyes as he looked down at her, patiently waiting for the end of his life.

"It's okay," he whispered in her ear, when they heard the click of a phaser behind them, and she struggled against him again.

She would never forget the sound of his voice when he said it, or the way he almost seemed to smile when she silently fought him. The way he was kind with her, even as he stood expecting the blast that would tear through his body .

She would die one day, she was sure, thinking about how Tom's body had felt pressed against hers in that ally. The feeling of his chest pinning her to the wall, his comm badge digging into her shoulder. The even rhythm of his breathing mingling with her own thready breaths.

She closed her eyes.

Her eyes were still shut and her body still pressed against him when they materialized on the _Adelphi._

"Report," Tom called, moving away from her and off the transporter pad.

Standing there in the artificial light of the ship, watching as Tom exited the transporter room after the Ensign who was reporting to him, Kathryn blinded once, twice.

"Are you alright Admiral?" Harry asked, regarding her with concern from behind the transporter console.

She stood staring at him, not sure her legs could move or her throat would produce sound.

"Fine," she responded after a moment, moving with practiced ease as she stepped down from the pad. "But I'm relieved you still have impeccable timing, Mr. Kim."

Her voice was cheerful and her manner all business. She strode out of the room in the same manner she'd exited her ready room on _Voyager_. Calm. Confident. Together.

Still, after Janeway left, Kim's forehead remained knit with worry.

. . . . .

When Janeway met Kim alone for dinner in his quarters, Harry tried to contain his vague feeling of unease. But when Tom came alone to fetch him for breakfast, the younger man began to feel like a child in some well-organized custody arrangement.

"Are you two in the middle of some kind of fight?" Harry asked, looking pensive over his omelet.

Tom regarded his friend carefully, pausing to consider his response.

It was strange to say that Tom had done anything wrong, doing what he did on Dorvan. He had risked his life for a ranking officer. For his closest friend. He had offered himself as a human shield for a woman who'd made countless sacrifices for himself and 144 others, over the course of seven long years.

Monuments had been built to celebrate the kind of thing Tom had done. Triumphant speeches had been written, heralding the selflessness of a lone individual and extolling the nobility of the human spirit.

Looking across at Harry over breakfast, Tom knew what he'd done wasn't purely selfless. And he didn't think it deserved elegant words or a shiny plaque.

Had Harry been two seconds later in transporting them, phaser fire would have torn through his back, his body crumpling against Kathryn as she felt his chest contract and then slump. She would have cradled his weight as his body gave out beneath him. Watched his face, only centimeters from her own, as it registered infinite pain and then nothingness.

She would have taken to her grave the last words he'd spoken to her. And when she closed her eyes in bed every night prior to that, she would have seen the look in his eyes when he'd slipped away.

What he'd done was selfless, it was true. But it was also horribly cruel.

He understood this. Just as he knew why Kathryn now refused to stop by his quarters. Why she hadn't spoken to him, or even, for that matter, held eye contact with him since they'd materialized on the _Adelphi_.

Tom understood all of it. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to feel sorry.

"Not exactly," Tom replied, sipping his coffee.

This failed to make Harry feel any better, and Tom looked at his friend with a soft smile.

After the day's negotiations with Dorvan's leaders were completed, this time on the safety of the _Adelphi_, Tom allowed himself some time in his quarters. He knew that he needed to find Kathryn, but somehow he'd hoped that she would find him.

She hadn't, and he was disappointed, though not surprised.

After an hour of sitting alone, he made his way to the deck she was staying on. When he chimed at the door, she bid him entry but didn't look at him, her face turned to the stars as she sat on the couch in the living area.

She didn't speak and neither did he immediately. The only sound was the sad song she'd loved since _Voyager_; its mournful notes filling the room and its refrain pulling them both back to another place.

He briefly considered allowing her physical space. Taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, or perhaps on the chair. Instead, he sank down on the couch beside her, waiting until she looked at him with a dark expression and accusing eyes.

"You're allowed to be mad at me," he said evenly, pulling her feet into his lap. "But you aren't allowed to _stay_ mad at me."

She examined his face and her anger seemed to fall away slightly, though dark currents still swam in her eyes.

"I would have watched you die," she said, her feet tense as he began to rub them.

"I know," he replied somberly. "And I'd like to say that I would take it back." His eyes narrowed. "But I wouldn't."

She snorted, but didn't smile or laugh. She simply stared at him.

"I'm not sure what I would have done if the _Adelphi_ would have come later." Her eyes dropped from his face and her expression became unreadable as she continued. "I'm not sure how I would have lived if I'd lost you that way."

He didn't cease his ministrations on the balls of her feet.

"Well, I'm afraid that I have a good idea what I would have done if I lost you, as it's already happened to me once."

His voice was casual as he spoke, but he refused to meet her gaze, his eyes remaining on her feet in his lap. Kathryn watched him, emotions vying for prominence on her face.

Tom rarely spoke about the alternate _Voyager_ anymore, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd asked about it. It wasn't that either failed to voice their thoughts. It was just that Tom thought less and less about those experiences the farther he got from them, and she was simply grateful that he seemed less haunted.

"I didn't cry when she died," he volunteered, before she could formulate a question that wouldn't dig too deeply into an old wound.

"No?" Her voice was surprised, but not hurt.

"I think it just felt more like a waste than anything. She was so unhappy at the end. I guess we all were, really. Maybe I didn't have it in me to grieve her."

His fingers stilled on her feet, and he looked at her with pain in his eyes.

"At least, that's what I used to think; that I didn't have any tears left by the time she passed. But I sometimes now I think it was the opposite." He looked out her viewport, adding, "sometimes I think that I didn't cry then because I was afraid if the tears started, they would never stop."

Kathryn's eyes became glassy, her previous anger forgotten. She tugged his hand into her own, lacing her fingers through his.

"There's really only one thing to do," she said suddenly, after they'd passed a few minutes in silence save for the music playing.

He looked at her expectantly as he kneaded the base of her toes.

"We have to make sure neither of us dies before the other."

He smiled slightly, the ghost of pain disappearing from his face.

"You mean you want to make a pact?"

"Yes," she confirmed, her tone indicating gravity. As though she was back in the negotiating room, dealing with the fate of planets and decisions that impacted billions. "We both have to die at the exact same time. At the ripe old age of 110."

He smiled. But then his expression shifted.

"You know," he began with an innocent expression, his finger tracing the arch of her foot in a way that he knew tickled her.

She didn't twitch or tense, her face still resolved as he spoke.

"When I'm 110, you're going to 119."

She glared at him, and his innocent expression faltered, a smirk playing at his lips. Even the great Kathryn Janeway was sensitive about her age.

"Of course," he continued, "you'll no doubt look much better at 119 than I do at 110, or even at 100 for that matter."

She reached for a pillow to toss at his head and he seized her foot tighter, tickling her until she finally began to wriggle.

"Commander Paris, I order you to stop it this instant," Janeway barked, but he, of course, refused.

Their battle continued even as her door chimed.

"Come," she called with laughter, kicking her foot furiously as Tom reached for it again.

"Hi, Admiral, I. . ." Harry began, but immediately froze when he saw the seen unfolding in the living area.

Was Tom _tickling_ Janeway?

"I'll just. . . Come back later," Harry said, with a vague gesture. He ignored Tom's voice calling to him to stay, turning swiftly on his heel to exit.

When he was gone, Kathryn pressed her lips together, barely suppressing a giggle.

"What if that was Captain Richards checking in on you?" Tom asked, a wry grin on his face.

"Oh, I knew it wasn't. I invited Harry for dinner yesterday."

Her tone was nonchalant but Tom saw through it, his face twisting in surprise.

"You did that deliberately to scare with him! You let him walk in on us like this _knowing_ it would throw him for a loop."

Kathryn tried to school her features but failed. She blushed, realizing that she'd been caught.

"After all of these years, I must confess: I still enjoy scaring the hell out of Harry Kim."

Tom shook his head, a rueful expression on his face.

"I can't say I blame you. It's easy enough for you to torment him. At least, when it's me who's going to have to deal with him later, when he asks me if we're having an affair."

This time, it was Kathryn's turn to look surprised.

"He's really asked you that?" She didn't look appalled, exactly. But it wasn't far off.

"You say that like he accused you of sleeping with Minister Devra," Tom retorted, his voice somewhere between amused and hurt.

At the mention of the Bailorian minister who'd hounded her six years earlier, Kathryn pulled a face. But she didn't respond.

"And he hasn't asked me yet. At least not in words." Tom paused. "But I promise you this: the words are coming."

Kathryn looked at him with interest and something else.

Harry Kim, the last officer to spread gossip and the first to run scared of her, thought she was sleeping with Tom Paris.

It was yet another of Tom's comments that would stick with Kathryn for weeks.

. . . . .

When Tom came tantalizingly close to hitting a triple over on the dabo wheel, Kathryn thought the Ferengi proprietor was going to pass out on his perch above them.

"Dabo!" the crowd cheered, and Tom collected his earnings . His prize wasn't meager, but it was a far cry from the jackpot he would have earned with a triple over.

Janeway laughed, hiding her face behind Tom's shoulder when the dabo girl tried to convince Paris to reinvest his earnings. He flatly refused with a shake of his head.

Coming here had been Tom's idea. They needed to kill a few hours before their transports arrived and neither felt like sitting in guest quarters when there was so much to do on Deep Space Nine.

She'd simply shrugged when he'd suggested a drink and a game of dabo. She didn't mind the idea, but she didn't really see the attraction of the game either. Most dabo tables were fixed, and even when they weren't, Kathryn didn't seem to have very good luck at them.

Tom, however, seemed to be a natural.

"I think the owner's going to have to see the station's doctor about the jolt you gave his heart," she remarked as they left, gesturing to the Ferengi with her head.

Tom snorted.

"Eleven years ago, that Ferengi tried to swindle a very green Harry Kim." They exited onto the Promenade and Tom craned his neck, taking in the shops around them. "I can't say that I'm sorry for scaring him. Nor am I particularly concerned about his heart."

Kathryn chuckled, threading her arm through Tom's.

"So. How are you going to spend your winnings?"

She stopped in front of a jewelry vendor, picking up a necklace and looking at it closely. Tom watched her as she turned the carefully-wrought Andorian chain over in her hand.

"First," Tom began, leaning against a bulkhead, "I think I'm going to buy you dinner. And then we'll go from there."

Kathryn smiled, replacing the necklace, and they made their way through the crowd of people.

Three hours later, Tom stood with Kathryn, waiting for her transport to dock.

Leaning over a balcony, Tom looked down at the throngs of shoppers. Some lived on the station. Most were just traveling through. A Bajoran couple strolled arm-in-arm. A Bolian man walked with his child on his shoulder, pointing out sights as they picked their way.

Tom didn't particularly want to look at Kathryn, as he knew that it would only make what they were both feeling that much worse. Two months had passed far too quickly, and now they were going to have to go back to their real lives. They each were going to slip back into being alone.

"I'm not really sure to what to say."

Kathryn's voice demanded his attention, and he stood up from his position, turning to face her. Her mouth threatened a frown, and her eyes mirrored his own sadness. Behind her, people were already lining up in front of the bay doors.

"I'm not either," he admitted.

For a brief moment, he thought she might actually cry. But this was Kathryn Janeway and they were in public. Even out of uniform, the pips seemed to follow her.

"I've decided I'm going to start to using the privileges of my rank more," she said, the corners of her mouth turning upward. "Go off world whenever I please. Maybe hitch a ride on a starship from time to time."

He smiled at her, though something less than happiness inhabited his features.

"I hear the new Prometheus-class ships are very impressive. A friend once told me there are only three on active duty."

"Is that so?" She feigned interest. "Perhaps I should make that a priority; check one of them out. You wouldn't have any suggestions, would you?"

He shrugged.

"I hear the _Titan_'s is often in the system. And the First Officer is rumored to be devilishly handsome." He closed one eye, adding, "I also hear the Captain has spent the last two months drunk on Romulan ale."

At this, Kathryn laughed loudly and Tom rested his lower back against the railing, content that he was able to make her happy for a little while longer.

"I'm going to miss you," she told him, shaking her head slightly.

"Not nearly as much as I'm going to miss you," he replied with a sad smile. "Although I did get you something to take your mind off it."

Kathryn regarded him with curiosity and Tom extended his hand forward, allowing the Andorian chain to cascade down from his fingers.

"Tom, you didn't!"

Her delight and surprise were greater than he anticipated. She didn't even bother to admonish him for getting her such an expensive gift.

"You should have something to remember the trip."

He slipped the chain over her head as he spoke, and she stayed close to him afterward, her eyes suddenly glinting with interest.

"How did you even manage to go back to that shop without me noticing? You were never gone from my side for more than five minutes."

The smile fell from his face, replaced by a seemingly serious expression.

"As I told you two months ago, Admiral: I'm a patient man."

She laughed again, putting her hand on his chest as he looked down at her softly.

Behind them, people were beginning to move through the bay doors. The station's computer announced the transport's departure in ten minutes.

"I should go," she murmured, still not pulling away from him.

"Probably."

With a sigh, Kathryn wrapped her arms around Tom, pulling him into a tight hug. He hugged her back fiercely, his long arms wrapping easily around her small frame. When she pulled away from him it was with reluctance, and his hands were still on her arms.

"I'll comm you as soon as I get back. And thanks again for my gift."

He smiled at her, and she reached up on her toes to give him a quick peck. A sign of affectionate and familiarity; a token of her deep, abiding friendship.

Just then, however, someone in the crowd bumped into her with their luggage, sending her forward into Tom.

The resulting motion wasn't elegant or, objectively speaking, romantic. Their noses bumped hard, her shoulder pressed painfully into his chest. But still, standing there in the middle of the crowd of people, he pulled her body flush with his own, his arms flying around her waist to prevent himself from going backward over the railing, and her soft lips crushed against his chapped ones.

They remained in the position a few beats longer than necessary.

When Kathryn drew away from him this time, it was quickly, her arms recoiling to her sides and her impatient feet almost backing her into someone else in the crowd.

"I have to go," she said, far too hurriedly. "My transport's leaving."

She forced a smile, while Tom stood helplessly watching her, his throat unable to produce sound.

"We'll talk as soon I get back to San Francisco."

Everything about her tone, the way she was practically running away from him, told Tom she was lying. Fear welled within him, but he didn't know what to do.

"Kathryn," he called after her, his face filled with concern and his voice failing to mask his rising worry.

When she retreated into the crowd with only a wave, the vague panic over took him and he clung to the railing behind him.

In the low light of the station, watching as Kathryn disappeared through the bay doors, Tom blinked once, twice. He wondered what in the hell had just transpired between them.


	7. Sunset, starlight

Chapter 7: Sunset, starlight

Sipping his tea and watching as the Romulan sun began its slow decent, Tom felt a deep pang of sympathy for the Remans.

Romulus was essentially a grey, boring planet. The architecture bespoke a Spartan attitude, as well as a pronounced lack of imagination. The shops, including the restaurant outside of which Tom currently perched, screamed conformity. Even the sky, when the Romulan sun was at its peak, appeared a sickly beige.

Each day, however, the planet was transformed by the dazzling array of colors that painted the sky and everything below during the setting of its sun. The five-hour display punctuated the lives of those on Romulus, and seeing it, one understood why even the brutal Admiral Alidar Jarok once waxed poetic about the beauty of his homeworld.

As the horizon became alive with orange and yellow hues, Tom contemplated the fate of the Remans. The forsaken citizens of the Romulan Empire; the populations whose tidal-locked planet forced them to build their civilization in a permanent night. Forever robbed of light at home. Forever prevented from appreciating this awe-inspiring sight by their acquired sensitivity to light.

Tom failed to come up with a more tragic fate, or else, a more fundamental explanation for the Remans' stinging hatred of their Romulan brethren.

Casting his eyes back to the Senate building in front of him, he continued to wait patiently, as he had done for the previous three hours.

The previous three hours and three months, to be exact, as it was three months earlier that he left Deep Space Nine with a sickening feeling of dread and a suitcase full of questions.

Three months and three hours since he'd last spoken to Kathryn directly.

He'd tried to contact her dozens of time after returning to the _Titan_. He tried comming her apartment, her office. Each time, he received the notification that she was 'unavailable'.

Never had an automated voice seemed so cold to him, or a blank screen with a Starfleet insignia so utterly infuriating.

Kathryn had always replied, of course; sending him back a recorded message that detailed the events of her day and interesting tidbits of information about _Voyager_'s former crew. Her feigned comfort might have even been convincing, the first few times, if not for the slight strain in her face whenever she forced a smile.

As people began filing out of the Romulan Senate building, he pondered how deftly his feelings for Kathryn had snuck up on him. His feelings for B'Elanna, as well as for Katherine Bishop, he'd seen coming light years away. The passion, the longing, had found him in degrees. But its approach both times was steady and anticipated, like the docking of a ship.

With Kathryn Janeway, his feelings shifted abruptly, tearing through him like a phaser blast he never saw coming.

Re-examining their friendship, he couldn't think of a time when he'd ever pushed away thoughts about her that weren't quite platonic. He hadn't spent years pining for her, or else tossed and turned in his bed, willing away images that warmed his skin to the touch.

Somewhere between meeting her on the _Mississippi_ and leaving Deep Space Nine, the profound friendship he felt for her shifted, like a changeling, into something he didn't recognize. And as desperately as he suddenly found himself to pursue those feelings, he was even more terrified that he was losing her entirely.

After six weeks, Tom had given up trying to contact her. This was not the first time Kathryn Janeway has avoided him, and he resigned himself to the idea that there was nothing he could do to sway her until she herself changed her mind.

He began to bury himself in work. He worked double-shifts and came home exhausted down to his toes. And even then, in the solitude of his quarters, he sunk himself into reports and other tasks that could have waited for another day.

Anything not to think of the empty space and longing that existed where his best friend used to be.

Anything not to contemplate how Kathryn's body had felt against him, or the way the familiar smell of her had invaded his senses days after she was gone.

He avoided Deanna and her knowing looks at every juncture possible, was slow to return messages from Harry and other distant friends. His self-imposed isolation became deeper and deeper until the evening Will showed up at his door, a bottle of Romulan ale concealed under his arm.

"You've been working pretty hard lately. You aren't aiming for my job, are you?"

He'd smiled at Will's attempt at humor, but knew better than to think this visit was simple small talk. Instead he'd tried to stall.

"Maybe. I hear the ship's Counselor will support me if I start a mutiny. I think others would, too." He added, returning his attention to the bottle in Will's hands. "I think the only people who would stick with you are the pilots."

Will had laughed at his joke, but quickly stilled, looking at his First Officer with measured concern as he poured two glasses of the blue liquid.

"What are you planning to do when we dock at McKinley Station next week?"

Tom had shrugged, eyes on on the glass he'd just accepted.

"Catch up on the backlog of work that accrued in my absence. Read the never-ending stream of reports. . . Maybe break into your quarters and steal some of your Romulan ale."

Will ignored the last part of his comment entirely, no longer willing to accept his friend's dodges.

"You've been caught up for two months, Tom. Which is horrifying given that three months ago you came back to five months worth of work."

Tom smiled politely, but made no reply. Will had watched him with a frown before barreling on.

"You should spend some time planet-side. Maybe look up people in San Francisco."

At this, the smile had fallen from Tom's face, replaced by a look of warning. Will was his friend as well as his Captain, but in neither capacity did he appreciate the older man meddling in his personal life.

Riker had taken note of his expression, shifting tactics as he put his feet up on Tom's coffee table.

"You know, Deanna and I served on the _Enterprise _for more than ten years before we got together again."

Tom eyed him before responding.

"The two of you had known each for years before ending up on the _Enterprise_. I suppose that's a lot of water under the bridge."

"A lot of water and a lot of mistakes," Riker acknowledged. "Most of the mistakes being on my part."

Tom shot him a look of sympathy, but made no reply.

"I think, after a while, we fell into a comfortable friendship because it was what we both wanted. But there were moments, long before we got back together, when we each wanted more." Will shook his head, continuing, "moments that we both tried desperately to ignore."

"Good thing you had your encounter with the Ba'ku."

Tom's tone had been cheerful, but Will regarded him with a serious expression.

"Most people aren't so lucky, Tom. If we hadn't spent time on that planet, if all our worries weren't replaced by youthful enthusiasm, I don't know what would have happened."

The open fear in the Captain's normally unflappable countenance had transfixed the younger man, and he'd felt his defenses pool with Riker's around their feet. The older man turned his head to look out Paris' viewport, his face bathed in the glow of the stars streaking past at a frantic pace.

"You have to make your own moments, my friend. You can't hope to get lucky- assume time will stop for you."

Will paused, his face wistful.

"It did once for me. But most times, it doesn't. And then you're just left with an empty cabin and a window with a view."

The next morning, Tom had tried to contact Kathryn again, and once more, was told she was unavailable by her automated service. When he contacted her secretary directly, he was told that she was preparing to go off-world, and would be leaving within next day for a trip that would last two weeks.

Her destination, however, was apparently classified, though Tom wasn't sure if it was classified for a higher security clearance, or just from him.

Janeway often went off-world on diplomatic missions, and it was possible that this was all just a coincidence. Still, Tom heavily suspected that she had arranged to be away while his ship was docked in Earth's orbit.

He suspected, too, that wherever she was going would be difficult, if not impossible, for him to follow her.

It had been no surprise when Chakotay and Seven had no idea where Kathryn was heading. The latter was downright terrible at keeping secrets from the former, and the former was just as bad at keeping secrets from Tom. There's no way Kathryn would have told them anything, though Tom had checked just for the sake of thoroughness.

He'd also known better than to ask his father. The man wouldn't budge if Kathryn's trip was really a matter of sensitivity, and if Tom pushed, it would draw questions that he would rather not have to answer. At least, not yet.

When he had finally contacted Tuvok, the Vulcan remained silent, looking at him as though sizing him up.

Tom had tried not fidget under the scrutiny, standing straight as he took in Tuvok's surroundings. Behind his friend's dark features, he could see the setting Vulcan sun through the window of his home. The bright light cast a glow throughout the living room, its rays reflecting on the metal clasp of a discarded purple jacket, as well as the communicator that lay beside it.

_Voyager_'s former Security Chief rarely left Vulcan these days, a testament to how much the stoic man had missed his family in his seven long years away. He had taken a post in the planet's capital, and made it to Earth for special events like Kathryn's birthday, or crew reunions. But generally, he was loathe to leave his homeworld, and Tom hadn't even thought it a possibility that Kathryn's long-time friend would accompany her on the two-month mission she had instead taken her former helmsman on.

"Commander Paris. You are looking well."

"It's good to see you, too, Tuvok. But I can honestly say that I've been better. I'm looking for Kathryn, and with markedly little success, I'm afraid."

There had been no sense in beating around the bush. Though the two men kept in touch, Tuvok undoubtedly knew Tom was contacting him about Kathryn. He could read Tom like a book, and knew Kathryn even better.

The silence that stretched between them had lasted forever, and Tom fixed his eyes on the shining points of metal rather than the man's dark stare.

"She is on Romulus. The Federation is beginning another round of negotiations with the Romulan Empire."

Tom had nodded, his lips pressed into a hard line.

Romulan space wasn't as difficult to get into as it was before the Dominion War, but it was damn near close. The only difference now was that if he made it, he wouldn't be summarily shot.

At least, not by the Romulans.

"Good luck, Mister Paris. The journey ahead of you. . . will be difficult."

Tom had smiled at Tuvok's words. Trust this man, of all people, to summarize his predicament in a single, understated sentence.

"I suspect you're right, Tuvok. But thank you for the help."

After that, it had taken five days to negotiate his way into Romulan space, but by the time the _Titan _had docked at McKinely, he's assured his passage. He'd had to use every connection, every favor. And even then, that hadn't been enough.

He'd been forced to use the pull of his last name. The implied connection to Starfleet royalty. It would have turned his stomach, if, by then, he hadn't been consumed with the sole objective of seeing Kathryn.

Sitting outside the restaurant on Romulus, watching as the familiar auburn-haired figure navigated her way down the Senate steps, he began to wonder if he'd made the right choice, coming there.

On either side of Kathryn were Romulan Senators, and Tom could make out one of the Senator's body language even from their distance. The man's unease, his doubt, even as Janeway strolled with practiced comfort, gesturing in a familiar way as she spoke.

The Romulans already pulled out of a serious treaty with the Federation once the year before. The road Tom's friend presently navigated was a long and painful one, and he doubted very much there was an end in sight.

As the group came closer, making it to the bottom of the steps, Tom could clearly see the look on Kathryn's face. He knew instantly that she was exhausted, but desperately trying to hide it.

He knew, too, that the fatigue threatening to overtake her was only partly to blame on whatever she'd encountered with the Romulans.

After all their work three months earlier, after all the honest conversations and out-and-out arguments on ten different planets, the Federation had decided not to change a damn thing in the allocation of funds. Nothing had been announced yet, and certain public measures to reflect the appearance of progress would likely be made, but Tom had already heard the news through the pipeline three weeks prior to leaving for Romulus.

When he'd learned of the decision, sitting in Will and Deanna's quarters for dinner, he'd felt physical pain. And then that pain had been joined by the ache that somewhere, probably alone in her office, Kathryn was dealing with the same news.

He'd thought of the fair-haired boy back Agauos and been consumed by sadness. And later, with hope.

He tried not to believe that this wasn't the Federation's plan all along, and even the cynical side of him agreed as much. If it had been, they would have assigned someone other than Kathryn to do the bidding. One of the many Admirals who were more flash and less substance; a person of lesser character, who wouldn't feel profoundly betrayed by the outcome, burning out long before her time.

At the base of the stairs, the Romulan Senator shook his head and Janeway's face softened, touching the man's arm slightly. As tired as she was, she was equally resolved. She still remembered exactly why she came to this planet. Exactly what it was that she wanted to accomplish.

Watching the scene enfold, Tom abruptly decided that coming here, trying to convince her to pursue a romantic relationship, was a mistake.

Kathryn Janeway was many things, but always- _always_- she was someone who knew what she wanted. And as much as it pained him, as much as he desired her, a romantic relationship with him didn't seem to be a part of that.

Tom was too old to think that this life would end if his feelings for her went unrequited. The flutter in his chest would remain for sometime, he knew. But eventually, they would once again settle into their close friendship. The awkwardness would dissipate. One or both of them might even move on.

Years later, the only evidence of the spark they'd once shared would be an occasional meaningful look. Maybe one of longing, or simply of reflection. But other than that, there lives would continue. Things between them at some point would mend, and so, too, would his heart.

But if he stayed here, if he pushed her, he would lose her friendship. And that was a risk Tom knew down to bones he was unwilling to court.

As he got up from his seat and left the courtyard behind, he didn't see Kathryn's eyes follow him.

She had seen, coming down the stairs, that he was there waiting for her. But she'd kept her mind on the Senator's worries as she tried to contain those that were steadily welling within her. And then, before she could make up her mind what to do, she saw something she never before witnessed, her face filling with alarm and a sharp pain materializing in her stomach.

Under the painted Romulan sky, Kathryn Janeway watched as Tom Paris walked away from her; his retreating form highlighted by the light that shown in his hair and the dark trail of doubts he left in his wake.

. . . . . .

It took her an eternity to track down where he was staying on Romulus.

An eternity that spanned exactly three hours and twelve minutes.

There were only two thousand Federation citizens on the entire planet, and only one, thankfully, to have the last name of Paris. But for some reason, Tom had given a different first name when taking his temporary accommodations, and this delayed the process of finding him by three hours and seven minutes.

Or so Kathryn estimated, as she, with trepidation, made her way down the street on which his hotel was located.

Though she had ignored Tom for three months, she had never been without him. Each time he had tried to contact her, fear that their friendship was destabilizing consumed her. It followed her into her meetings and then on the transport back to her apartment. It trailed her, like a loyal dog, when she went home to Indiana.

No other sound had been worse than the beep her office terminal emitted, indicating that she had an incoming comm from Tom.

Except, of course, the silence that ensued when, after six weeks, the beep stopped.

But even then, thoughts of Tom had found her, taking possession of her mind no matter where she was. Flashes of memories, random sensory imprints from their eleven years together, invaded her consciousness, as well her dreams, in constant onslaughts.

His face, youthful and defiant, when she first found him in Auckland. The rueful expression he always got when he missed a shot at the pool table in Sandrine's. The feel of his cheek, wet with tears, when he'd admitted his longing for a friendship that no longer existed. The sound of his voice, bright and taunting, whenever he traded barbs with Chakotay.

The way his body had felt pressed against hers in that ally on Dorvan V. And then the way it had felt pressed against her again on Deep Space Nine.

But the memory that haunted her with the greatest frequency was was one from three years earlier, before he was stationed on the _Titan_. He'd been on leave and managed to make it to New Jersey for Seven's birthday. Chakotay built a bonfire in the yard, and the two man sang ancient songs as the fire and the distant glow of the city blocked out the starlight above. There was one song Kathryn knew, though she always forgot the words, and she watched with contentment as Tom and Chakotay sang it in perfect harmony, the starless sky behind them.

Alone in her bed, her ears rang with the sound of their voices rising above the crackling of the fire, the words wrapping around her no matter how much she tried to block them out.

_Well, did she make you cry, make you break down- shatter your illusions of love? And is it over now, do you know how- to pick up the pieces and go home? _

Walking in the Romulan heat, she pushed away the memory again.

As terrified as she had been of what was happening between herself and Tom, all of her reservations had pooled around her feet when she watched Tom walk away from her, disappearing into the horizon and the setting sun.

She'd moved heaven and earth to get the rest of her schedule postponed. Used every contact she had to track him down.

Standing in the lobby, watching as he sat sipping tea just as he had hours earlier, she wondered if she'd made a mistake finding him. His face was contemplative but not distraught. His free arm lay relaxed at his side. He seemed content. Complete.

When she joined him at the table he sat at, he smiled at her. But something about the familiar smile and his soft expression afterward filled her with fear rather than hope.

"I should warn you," he said, his voice even, " that the coffee here is absolutely dreadful. You should stick to tea unless you want to relive bad memories of Neelix's coffee substitutes."

She forced a smile, and as she composed her thoughts, Tom's eye took note of the delicate white chain around her neck. It wasn't surprising that she'd put on his gift before coming to see him. But he didn't want to examine what it meant that she'd had it with her on Romulus in the first place.

She took note of his gaze, but before she could open her mouth, he was already speaking.

"How are things going with the Romulans, anyway?"

His voice and his face were as patient as they'd always been with her. Again, his manner quelled rather than encouraged her hopes. She hesitated.

"Slow going. . . I'm not sure that I can get through to them."

Her body slouched as she spoke, betraying her stress. Tom touched her arm, though only briefly, before withdrawing his hand back to the safety of his tea cup.

"They're stubborn," he said, his eyes cast downward at the cup's contents.

"They're afraid," she modified, looking at him as he refused to meet her eyes.

"Afraid of what, exactly?"

His tone was even, non-accusing. She suddenly felt her mouth go dry. She felt convinced, despite all of her years of diplomacy, that this was the most delicate conversation she'd ever had.

"Afraid of change. Afraid of losing their way. They've been on the same path for such a long time."

Tom touched her arm again, this time allowing his hand to linger.

"Fear isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it keeps us from going down roads we shouldn't. . . Sometimes it keeps us from making mistakes."

Watching him as he spoke, Kathryn realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn't testing the waters. He'd already made his mind up. Somewhere between coming to this planet and seeing her at the bottom of those stairs, Tom had decided against this.

Her eyes swirled with emotion as she he began to speak, her voice hushed, just above a whisper.

"I don't think this is a mistake."

Gazing at her, his face became expressionless. His blue eyes betrayed nothing.

"You just said that it was. They're afraid of change; they don't want this."

She wasn't sure what was more unbearable- the look he was giving her or the pretext she no longer wanted to keep up. She closed her eyes to shut out both, her voice sounding distant over the thud of her own heartbeat in her ears.

"That's just it. I think they do want this. But they're scared of what will happen if they change and things end up crumbling around them."

When she opened her eyes, Tom was staring at her with open doubt. She continued speaking before he could make any response.

"The thing is, they've now seen what they want retreating from them. And beyond all of the other fears they've entertained, they realize that the most painful is the fear of that happening again."

As Kathryn finished, the lobby began to fill with people, the Romulan workday having ended, and travelers as well as locals emptying out into the capital.

"We should go," Tom said, rising from his seat with regret etched across his face.

Kathryn knew that he was right. The conversation they were having, in either of its meanings, wasn't appropriate for a room full of people. But watching as his face shifted back into his previous expression, she felt desperate to stop him.

"Tom," she said, catching his wrist, and he looked at her expectantly.

There, standing in the crowd of people, Kathryn pressed her lips to his.

It wasn't, objectively speaking, a romantic exchange. As she pressed into him, he stood motionless, allowing her to kiss him but refusing to reciprocate but allowing her the freedom. Wordlessly, her flushed body tried desperately to convince his frozen one. Her tongue explored his mouth, her hands traced the contours of his chest.

When she pulled away, he looked down at her with an expressionless face.

"We should go," he repeated, his voice low.

Her eyes filled with tears. But he looked at her softly, guiding her with a hand on the small of her back.

"Come on," he said, leading her to the building's turbolift.

She followed without complaint. She, too, no longer wanted to continue this in public.

She was a Starfleet Admiral. And if she was going to sob- if she was going to have beg- she would prefer to do so in the comfort of privacy.

When the lift doors hissed shut and Tom suddenly pinned her to the wall, his mouth insistent and his hands traveling up her shirt, every synapse in her body fired. Kissing her all the way to his floor, he managed to enter the code to his door without breaking contact. Her mouth and body caught up, matching his speed.

Just inside the threshold of his guest quarters, their doubts joined their clothes on the floor. The time for fear and patience had ended.

. . . . .

Stretched against Tom, Kathryn felt his hands trace the expanse of her back. She knew they didn't have another round in them. Not after the last few hours. But still, his hands didn't stop their movements on her body, and he felt rather saw her smile as she pressed her face against his chest.

"I think we destroyed the room," he said, something between embarrassment and amusement playing in his voice.

"Hopefully this won't get back to Starfleet," she murmured, her smile growing larger.

She felt Tom's hand ceased its lazy pattern.

"I'm pretty sure it will. . . The room is in my father's name, after all."

Her breath caught in her chest. When the Federation Consulate had told her they'd located a Paris by a different name, she hadn't even thought to ask what name it was.

She found herself torn between the fear of impending professional awkwardness,and the unbridled joy that Tom had been so desperate to find her that he'd used his father's name.

The latter won out, and she wracked with laughter against him.

"I'm glad you find this funny, Kath. Try to remind me of the humor when my dear father busts me down to Ensign."

Tracing his chest with a finger, she looked up at him with a mischievous expression.

"Well, perhaps he'll be relieved. You engaging in activities that could theoretically produce grandchildren."

Looking down at her, his expression became sheepish.

"Except that he'll wrongly assume the partner of said activities to be Katherine Bishop. Which, I guess, is better for you in the short-term."

Realizing what he was saying, her face distorted in horror.

"Tom! You didn't tell him you ended things with her?"

She buried her face completely in his chest, his chest hair rubbing in entirely distracting ways against her face.

"You realize, don't you, that when you tell him about us, he's going to believe, quite understandably, that you ending things with her because of me. It's going to look like you cheated, and I was the other woman."

Her voice, however stern, was muffled by his body. The combination of intimate proximity and command tone struck Tom as funny, and he failed to hold back his laughter.

"Tom!"

"I'm pretty sure we're going to have to plenty of time to deal with my father." He chuckled again. "I can even feign confusion later when he asks about 'Katherine'."

She considered smacking him again, but instead looked at him with a smirk.

"You know, you're breaking both of your own rules, being with me."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on.

"You said, first, no more Katherines. And, second, that the woman you ended up with would be Betazoid."

Tom feigned seriousness, gesturing with his arm as he replied.

"Ah, yes. But I've always believed in following the spirit rather than the letter of rules."

Against him, Kathryn snorted, and he pressed on, emboldened by her amusement.

"I said no more Katherines because I thought them stubborn, but my current companion seems quite amenable to change. . . And I said I'd marry a Betazoid so as to have an opportunity to see you naked, and well. . ."

He waggled his eyebrows instead of finishing his statement, and Kathryn bit down on the flesh below her mouth.

"Ow," he yelped. "If I wanted someone who bites, I would have stayed with B'Elanna."

Instead of retorting, Kathryn grew serious, shooting Tom a rueful glance.

"You know, the second we show up at her wedding, everyone's going to look at us and know."

"Agreed," he said, picturing the Doctor watching them with thinly-veiled interest. And Harry watching them with thinly-veiled discomfort.

"Who do you think will be the first to realize it, Tuvok or Chakotay?"

He exhaled heavily, the air he displaced finding her face.

"I think they both already know. I contacted each of them when I was looking for you. Can't imagine they didn't read the exact nature of my panic. . . At the very least, Tuvok did."

Kathryn propped herself up with a put-off expression.

"It was Tuvok who gave me up, wasn't it?"

"In under a minute," Tom confirmed. "And don't pretend you didn't tell him where you were going in the hope he would do just that."

She settled back against him with a frustrated sound that he knows is all for show.

"I will admit to my hopes only if Tuvok admits that he is growing soft in his old age."

Tom chuckled.

"Good luck getting that admission. I'm pretty sure that stalling is one of the first things they teach Vulcan children."

Kathryn sighed, feigning contemplation.

"I admit to not being a very patient person." She kissed his chest, continuing, "but I happen to know a very patient man who's willing to do my bidding."

He stroked her hair, his thoughts still lingering on what would happen when they showed up at B'Elanna's wedding.

"You know, B'Elanna won't bat an eyelash," he remarked, and it took her a moment to find the thread of conversation.

"Of course not. She wants you to be happy."

"True. But I also think she won't be surprised."

She looked at him with curiosity and he continued, a small smile playing on his face.

"Whenever I talked about you, even before I left the _Titan _to join you, she would get this frustrated expression on her face. It was the same look she used to get whenever she was talking warp theory or temporal mechanics and I failed to understand her." He scratched his face. "I think she was waiting for me to clue in. Probably you, too."

Kathryn smiled against him again, amused by the prospect of the engineer looking at the two of them with a mixture of smugness and relief when they showed up at the impending festivities.

As Kathryn nuzzled into him, Tom looked out the large window of the room they were in. The sun had already set, and the sky was alight with unfamiliar stars.

He felt content. But he was also surrounded with thoughts about the future.

"I'm thinking about going on inactive duty," Kathryn confessed, after they'd remained for some time in silence.

"You are?" He sounded concerned as well as surprised.

"I don't know how much longer I can be the face of false promises and dashed hopes. I love my work. . . But being at Headquarters the last three months. . . All that progress we achieved on all of those world and then. . ."

Her voice trailed off, and he held her tighter, wishing he could will away the pain and betrayal she felt. Knowing in a second he would take on her burden on top of his if he could.

"They'll probably do anything to keep you. Let you take whatever assignments you want. Operate out of whatever system, whatever ship."

"Probably," she conceded, sounding more deflated than happy.

As much as she downtrodden about her work, Tom wasn't sure she could resign herself to inactive duty yet. There would be occasional diplomatic missions, a few appearances. But the pace would be slow, and he doubted she was ready for that.

He looked at her with sympathy and her countenance shifted.

"I hear the Prometheus-class ships are very impressive," she said casually, gazing at him with a sly expression.

"Fit for even a Vice-admiral, one might say," he responded, equally casual.

He chose not to tell her, yet, that when the _Titan_ docked at McKinley Station, he'd very quietly made inquiries about what transfer options were available to him on Earth. There were several. Two of them being in San Francisco.

"I don't suppose Will Riker would take well to no longer being the ranking officer on his own ship."

Tom contemplated her statement, seeing a glimmer of truth in her joke.

"As long as you stayed clear of the bridge, I'm sure he'd be fine. Especially if you-"

"Kept him supplied in Romulan ale," she finished and he chuckled.

This time, it was her thoughts that wondered, drawn back eventually by the sound of Tom's voice.

"After I got the news about the Federation's decision. . . I made a few inquiries concerning Agauos."

She lifted her head to look at him, interest playing across her face.

"Such as?"

"What adoption would entail, if the adopting parent wasn't from Agauos."

He took a deep breath, and she contemplated her reply.

She wouldn't tell him, yet, that only days earlier she'd done the same thing. That back in her own hotel room, there was message from Governor Mollen she'd yet to read in her haste to track Tom down.

"What response have you received?" she asked, her voice and shifting body betraying her complete interest.

"They're skeptical. But they're also willing to listen. The process could take months. Maybe even a year."

She sunk deeper into his warmth, contemplating the boy who'd taken up residence in both of their thoughts.

"Plenty of time to make decisions," she murmured.

"Plenty of time," he agreed.

As they drifted off to sleep, both of them contemplated the future, but neither thought to worry.

In the end, it wouldn't matter which of them officially adopted the child, or whether they lived aboard a starship or back on Earth.

Either way, they would raise the child together. Tom would teach him about ancient history and space craft, while Kathryn would point out stars, stationary or in passing, as she told him their names and how they got them.

The child would grow up impossibly loved. And after he fell asleep each night, Tom would wait for Kathryn to finish whatever work she'd brought to bed, eventually growing impatient and tossing her work aside before kissing her breathless.

They would fall asleep as they did this night, with the stars and thoughts of the future for company, neither of them worrying that they were missing a thing.


End file.
